


Russian Tea Time

by sailormelanie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Related, Comfort Sex, Deviates from Canon (since the movie isn't out yet), Domestic, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Post-Canon, Slow Build, Smut, Soviet Russia, Victor Nikiforov's Past, somewhat realistic legal treatment of LGBTQ+ marriage as regarded by Russia’s & Japan’s governments, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-10 05:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailormelanie/pseuds/sailormelanie
Summary: When someone from Victor's past blows into town, Yuuri and Victor unwittingly end up on a journey across Russia to deal with Victor's family. Victor must face the ghosts he's ignored all his life while Yuuri must decide what it all means. What kinds of implications will Victor's past have on their future? What will the two do when they both decide to retire? As they face the challenges together, they begin to realize what it really means to be life partners.





	1. Etiquette when Entertaining

Summer was almost over.

Yuuri and Victor had gotten home in the middle of the night from Hasetsu and were sleeping in late to savor what little time they had left of the off-season. The last skating season had been extra intensive for both of them - between Yuuri reviving his career, falling in love with Victor, encouraging Victor to return to his own career, and moving to Russia, the two had been on the move non-stop. It made the few weeks they allowed themselves to rest feel like days instead. Yuuri expected to sleep for eternity, only waking up if the apartment was on fire. Instead he awoke to the low hum of Victor laughing.

He peaked up and saw Victor scrolling through his phone, looking through his texts. Yuuri had no idea what time it was, but judging from the fuzziness of his brain, he was fairly certain it was way too early. Still groggy, Yuuri muttered, "Day off. Go back to sleep."

"Yuuri, I totally forgot. Katya is coming over today for tea!"

Apparently a relaxing, prized day off for just the two of them was not meant to be.

Yuuri blinked, slightly more alert now. "When?"

"Hmmm...at 1:30? A little early for tea, but she's only free until 3."

"...what time is it now?"

"Noon."

The casual announcement set Yuuri off into a frenzy, rushing both himself and Victor out of their pajamas, into the shower, into their clothes and out the door with Makkachin in tow for a quick walk while they shopped. They had no tea and nothing even remotely close to "tea time" fare. In spite of their beautiful, sophisticated apartment, Yuuri and Victor hadn't been entertaining that much lately. Yuri P. came over on occasion to play video games and eat Yuuri's katsudon (which he complained wasn't nearly as good as the one he got in Hasetsu, but the complaints stopped when Yuuri threatened not to make it anymore).

When they had the time, the two met friends at one of St. Petersburg's hundreds of restaurants, cafes or bars. It meant Yuuri had less to clean up, especially useful since a "fun night out" with the Russians tended to mean "get shit-faced and sloppy." He did not want to relive the night his "Welcome to St. Petersburg" party coincided with the same night Mila got dumped and Georgi got stood up. By the end of the night, Victor's past skating costumes were splayed all over their floor with empty bottles scattered amongst them - the fallout after a fashion show that had turned into a drinking game (take a shot every time Georgi broke down into tears when one of the costumes reminded him of a past love - another shot when Victor proclaimed that Yuuri pulled the costume off better than the living legend himself). It had taken Yuuri days to get the strong scent of vodka out of their apartment, making Makkachin cranky and uncomfortable until the stench was gone.

When the two returned to their apartment from their shopping trip, Yuuri heaved a sigh. He already felt wiped out from just a couple hours of grabbing groceries - where did his so-called famous stamina go?

"So who's Katya again?"

He plopped the grocery bags onto the counter while Victor started prepping the fresh flowers they had just bought. He hadn't had a chance to ask before they had rushed out, and at the store, he had been so busy working through the shopping list that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. It was entirely possible he had already met Katya and just didn't recognize her name because he had met her as Katerina or Katenka or whatever. Russians had so many nicknames and name variations that he often got confused.

"Hmm, probably you've heard of her. She was pretty famous when she was skating. Katerina Kovalevsky?"

"Katerina Ko- OH!"

A siren went off in Yuuri's head.  Katerina Kovalevsky was a 2 time Olympic gold medalist and 2 time world champion Russian ice skater. Though she had retired 6 years ago, people still talked about her with admiration. Current women figure skaters were often compared to her, and very few measured up. Yuuri was pretty sure she still held the record for the most landed quads in the women's division. During the height of her career, her face was everywhere - magazines, billboards, TV, and once or twice on a runway during fashion week in Paris. Her brand was cool beauty and top performance, making her the essence of what luxury brands wanted in a spokesperson.

Katerina's fame and skating resume weren't the only reasons Yuuri went rigid. He remembered gossip columns and tabloids speculating about Victor and Katerina dating during Katerina's heyday. The two had been seen having dinner and shopping together multiple times by the paparazzi. One more salacious blog claimed to spot Katerina leading Victor up to her hotel room. Of course, Katerina wasn't the only person caught on camera with Victor, but it was notable at the time because the two were so huge in the skating world. People craved for the beautiful skating power couple to make it official and go public with their relationship. But the Russian ice princess suddenly retired. And afterwards the gossip died down and faded away from the public discourse, much like Katerina herself.

"Yuuri, something wrong?"

 Yuuri had spaced out, holding the milk in his hand without putting it away. Curse his library-like knowledge of everything about Victor.

"No! Just... surprised. Were you guys close friends? "

"Hmm...I guess you could say that. We don’t really stay in touch much now, but when she was skating we were...hmm....what did that blog call it...oh yes, fuck buddies!"

Yuuri dropped the milk on the counter - his entire body stiffened.

"Fuck buddies?"

"Yup! Or is it 'friends with benefits'? I've never been good with English slang." Victor puzzled, placing a finger on his lip in thought, seemingly oblivious to the very intense gears that turned in Yuuri's brain.

Past lovers wasn't a topic they had really touched upon. From the start, Victor had been eager to share intimate details about his former flames, but Yuuri shut down most of those conversations. With so little to share, it’d never feel like an even exchange. Maybe that had been a mistake.

"Are you jealous?"

He hadn't noticed Victor creep up from behind, his arms slowly wrapping around Yuuri's waist, his chin massaging into Yuuri's shoulder.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Yuuri protested with too much enthusiasm. And he was telling the truth. Mostly. The rock forming in his stomach was less about jealousy and more about intimidation. The second most famous figure skater in the last 10 years was visiting them for tea. Not only that, she had been lovers with his fiancé, the most famous figure skater in the last 10 years. All three of them were about to sit around around their coffee table chatting about...stuff. Yuuri didn't quite know how to process his current life.

None of those factors seemed to enter Victor's thoughts. He persisted in cuddling Yuuri closer, teasing Yuuri's ear with his warm breath.

"There's no need to be jealous. It was a long time ago. Katya and I are just friends. And if we're lucky, she'll bring cookies! Her cookies are amazing!"

Cookies. Katerina Kovalevsky was going to have tea with them and chat about the old days with his legendary figure skating fiancé and maybe bring homemade cookies.

That was awesome. And scary. Awesomely scary.

"When is she coming again?"

The doorbell rang. Yuuri swore in his head, wondering if his life was really just some weird skating-themed sitcom filled with a series of clichéd comedic timing and slapstick humor.

Victor, also a bit surprised, rushed to fill their flower vase with water, leaving Yuuri to answer the door with Makkachin leading the way, her excited barks forcing Yuuri to take a step forward. Gulping, he shuffled through the kitchen. He mentally coached himself. They met up with famous figure skaters all the time. _Not Katerina Kovalevsky._ They had a lovely apartment, perfect for entertaining. _Not for entertaining the refined Katerina Kovalevsky with her amazing cookies._ They had run into an ex of Victor's at a bar once and it had been relaxed and pleasant. _But that guy was not Katerina two-time-Olympic-gold-medalist-Kova-fucking-levsky._

He found himself at the door, hand hesitating to turn the knob while Makkachin made figure eights around his feet. The bell rang again. Shit. He had been making her wait! He turned the handle, but was startled when the bell rang a third time. Then a fourth time. Then four more times consecutively. He hastily pulled the door open and rushed to greet...a hippie lady with a baby?

Indeed, at their door stood a woman holding a cherub of a child with his finger pushed down on the door bell button. The woman was short and slight, almost pixie-like - actually, she could've passed for some kind of forest fairy in her green poncho that looked like it was supposed to be textured like tree bark. Her brown wispy hair sat in a strange, tall pile on top of her head. Without acknowledging him, she fussed over the toddler, his eyes on the verge of tears, "I said once was enough! You promised you'd be good if I let you do it this time, but this is just like with the elevator!" She placed him in the stroller that stood to the side in the hallway. He couldn't help but notice the stroller was plastered in stickers with various save-the-earth slogans like, "Treehugger," "Green Moms Unite!", "Mother Earth Needs Her Warriors," "Every Day is Earth Day"...and so on.

Yuuri sighed in relief. It wasn't Katerina Kovalevsky. Probably one of those Green Org people going door to door asking for donations. He was all for the environment, but thought it was a little shameless to bring your cute kid around with you for sympathy.

Before he could say, "Sorry, I actually don't have a minute to talk about the environment today," Victor sprang from behind him, excitedly spouting greetings in Russian. He switched quickly to English, gushing, "Oh my god, I can't believe how big he is now!"

Yuuri turned his head to look at Victor, "Huh?"

"Yuuri, this is Katya and her son, Aleksey."

Oh. A son. He had not expected that. Also Yuuri had almost slammed the door in Katerina Kovalevsky's face. The level of embarrassment that mistake would have induced would have probably killed him.

"Vitya! Yuuri!" She kissed Yuuri on both cheeks before he had time to react, rushing to do the same for Victor whose head craned over his shoulder. "It's so nice to meet you! Sorry about the doorbell! He just got into a button phase."

Yuuri excused himself and let Victor get Makkachin out of the way so Katya could get the stroller into the apartment. He ran back to the kitchen to finish preparing the snacks and tea. In spite of the fact that their kitchen was overly equipped with plates and kitchenware, Yuuri suddenly realized that they didn’t have a proper tea set, Russian or Japanese. His family had offered him one before he left, but Yuuri had waved it off as unnecessary, determined to fit all his belongings in a single suitcase. He was a little surprised Victor hadn’t bought one, considering the fact they already had a gravy boat, several butter dishes, and more salad plates than he knew what to do with. It seemed like the kind of thing he’d fawn over.

Instead, Yuuri took out their nicest looking coffee mugs and took the tea bags they had just bought out of the grocery bag that was still sitting on the counter. He could hear Victor giving Katya and Aleksey a quick tour of the apartment, so he started boiling water in their oversized copper kettle. They ended their tour at the dining area opposite from the kitchen with Makkachin wagging her tail eagerly behind them, excited to have new people around the apartment.

“Katya,” Yuuri called out. “What kind of tea do you like? Black, green, herbal?” He had bought 10 different kinds for fear of serving something Katya Kovalevsky would hate.

“Green sounds good!”

After preparing the tea and grabbing some plates, Yuuri managed to carry everything over to the table where Victor and Katya already sat chatting animatedly, Aleksey fidgeting a bit in Katya’s lap. Apparently they were already arguing about something. Before he could sit down himself, Victor stuffed something in his mouth. “Try a cookie, Yuuri! We need another opinion!”

Victor had been right. The cookies were amazing. Yuuri hummed, chewing every tasty morsel of dark chocolate and sugar in delight. But Victor seemed unhappy. “Ugh, Katya. These are definitely not as good as the ones you used to make with normal butter and eggs.”

“Are these vegan?” Yuuri sputtered, his mouth still full with the cookie. He didn’t know vegan sweets could taste so good. And if these were only mediocre in Victor’s eyes, what did her regular cookies taste like?

“Stop whining and get with the program. But Yuuri, you like them, right? I got some tips from a coworker - she’s a vegan genius!”

Yuuri nodded, slowly warming up to Katya. “They’re really good! So where do you work now?”

“I’m an environmental studies professor at Laurent College - it’s a small school in California.”

Yuuri’s jaw almost dropped. The world-renowned ice queen of elegance was a crunchy, hippy professor. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but when Yuuri was younger, he'd always seen her as a legend who was (almost) Victor's peer on the world stage - she was ice skating royalty. But apparently Katya had totally reshaped her life and become an activist, mother and professor? Talk about having it all.

“That’s...amazing!” he finally got out.

“I _am_ amazing!” she replied, seeming to misinterpret his words on purpose.

Katya explained that she and her husband were in town for a conference on the environment. Her specialization was more on policy, so most of the talks that interested her were already finished. Her husband, on the other hand, specialized in environmental science - he still had another two days worth of talks to get through.

“We met when I decided to go back to school after I quit skating,” she looked off dreamily while Aleksey pulled on one of his mother’s earrings for attention. She waved his hands off her earrings, apparently used to it.

“Oh yes,” Victor sighed. “That was a shame.”

“What, me going back to school?”

“No,” he corrected. “Obviously you quitting skating! You were still so young! You had a few years left at least!”

Yuuri had wondered the same thing. Katya had been at the top when she retired - she probably could have gotten at least one more world championship medal under her belt before retiring for good. And from the looks of it, she had retired not just from competition, but from figure skating completely. Yuuri couldn’t even imagine it at this point.

But Katya only blew air out of her mouth. “Please, not all of us are like you two. I liked skating, and I was good at it. But it reached a point where I realized that if I wanted to do something else aside from skating, I’d need to make some big changes. I’d need to go back to school, get a degree, start seriously dating, get married. I had new dreams.”

Yuuri expected Victor to cross his arms and start arguing with Katya about what a waste it was that she had stopped, but instead he looked thoughtful. He supposed it wasn’t long ago that the both of them had considered retirement (though perhaps for different reasons). And yet here they were, squeezing at least one more season out of themselves. As for afterwards...Yuuri didn’t know. Victor could probably find very willing and talented figure skaters to coach or choreograph for. Would Yuuri do the same? Would he and Victor become a coach-choreographer team? Yuuri didn’t even know if he had it in him to coach - he had never tried.

As his mind whizzed through all these things, the conversation carried on without him. Discussing her husband’s work, life in the US, visiting family while they were in Russia. Yuuri marveled at Katya a bit - she had dared to wish for something totally different. In his case, he didn’t think he wanted to be far from the ice, but could he still manage to shape a new future he could be happy with? With Victor?

Yuuri perked up a bit when Katya excused herself to go to the bathroom, passing Aleksey to Victor. Victor seemed a bit surprised at first, a little unsure of how to hold him. He quickly adjusted, however, as soon as Aleksey started smiling.

Victor cooed over Aleksey, quietly uttering what Yuuri could only assume was the Russian equivalent of baby talk. The child smiled wider, inspiring Victor to return it with his own signature heart-shaped smile. The two started a charisma face-off, each smile more brilliant than the next. The steady volume increase of Aleksey’s delighted squeals egged Victor on, each face becoming more and more ridiculous. The corners of Yuuri's mouth began to hurt from smiling, a swell of laughter stuck in his throat. He'd never seen Victor with such a small baby before. It was all too precious.

Victor caught Yuuri's stare and flashed Yuuri his own personalized smile, making him blush.

As Katya returned from the bathroom, Aleksey started reaching towards her, little pearl-like tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes.

"Uh oh, looks like someone is hungry." Katya lifted him from Victor's arms and asked if she could feed Aleksey and then put him down for a nap in their bedroom. Victor nodded, leading her over and switching back to Russian to gossip with her about some other figure skater they knew who got caught cheating on his wife.

The two returned, still chatting about the cheating skater, when Katya's phone buzzed on the table, interrupting her mid-sentence. She picked it up and unlocked it, only to roll her eyes at whatever she saw. "Sorry guys, let me take care of this." She started rapidly texting and grimaced as she wrote out the message. "I can't believe him."

Victor leaned over, trying to see what was on her phone. "What is it?"

"God, my husband's so ridiculous. We shared ONE little kiss when we were 12 and now he's all worried that some kind of spark is going to reignite. I'm texting him that you guys are making out in front of me and being super gay, is that ok?"

"EH?!"

Startled, Victor and Katya looked up from the phone to find a stunned Yuuri, who had practically jumped from his seat, his hands slammed on the table. Remembering that there was a sleeping child in the next room, Yuuri sat down again, slowly.

Something seemed to click in Victor’s head. "Oh! Yuuri! I may have forgotten to tell you that I was just joking before."

That was a very important little detail to withhold. It slowly dawned on Yuuri that he had been played. Big time. He could feel his eyebrow twitching as he tried to calm himself down. If Katya wasn't there he would have...

"Yuuri," Victor stretched out his name in that typical sing-song voice he used when he had crossed a line. "Don't be mad. I just never see you jealous unless you're drunk. I thought it was a bit cute. Also I think I'm still not over the Chihoko incident."

Politeness be damned.

"VICTOR. CHIHOKO DOESN'T EXIST. WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS."

Katya giggled. "Oh no, Victor. You're in deep aren't you."

"In more ways than one." Victor smiled, his stupidly cute heart-shaped mouth almost winning Yuuri over. Almost. The innuendo didn’t exactly help.

"But seriously. Yuuri looks kinda mad. What did you do?"

"I may have 'exaggerated' our relationship a bit."

"A BIT?" Yuuri emphasized each word, trying to hush his exasperation.

"Exactly how much did you exaggerate, Vitya?" Her playful toan changed, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I may have suggested we were friends with benefits."

She groaned, disgusted.

"Fuck buddies. You said 'Fuck buddies'." Yuuri was annoyed. It felt like it was the right time to fan some flames.

And it seemed to do the trick.

"GROSS! YOU’RE NOT SOME FRAT BOY! YOU'RE AN ADULT MAN! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!"

"It was a joke!" Finally Victor looked worked up. Yuuri reveled a bit, feeling a tiny sliver of satisfaction as he watched the green warrior russian princess berate his usually cool, oblivious fiancé. Victor was not easily perturbed unless they were in the bedroom. At the very least, Yuuri could be glad that he found yet another way to fluster Victor without stripping.

"You remember the gossip at that time, it was so silly!" Victor defended himself, as if on trial. "I thought it was funny when Yuuri took it seriously and didn't have time to correct him. Honestly, if I had half as much sex as the tabloids said I did, I wouldn't have had the time to win 5 world championships."

Katya calmed down a bit and shrugged. "I'm still pretty sure you had more sex than the average person."

"Well that might be true..."

“What do you mean _might_ be?!”

Katya started listing some of the more compromising situations and men the skater had been in and with. At that point, Yuuri stopped listening. In reality, he didn’t actually care whether or not Victor played around in his younger days. He’d already assumed as much long before they had even met. He felt comfortable and secure in Victor’s love for him now. But something else was bothering him, like a hanging suspicion that something was missing.

And then he remembered something Katya had said.

“You knew each other when you were 12?”

Katya had been shaking Victor by the collar, but quickly dropped him when she realized Yuuri had asked a question. “Yeah. Probably we met when we were...hmmm..7...8 maybe? We're from small towns that are pretty close to each other. We hit a lot of the same rinks, growing up.”

He had definitely not known that.

“I see…”

Suddenly Yuuri realized what had really been bothering him - and it wasn’t just because of Katya. He didn’t know much about Victor’s life as a child, or even about his family. He was vaguely aware of some details, but he wasn’t involved with Victor’s family the way Victor had become involved with his own. Victor had spent months getting to know the details of his family’s daily habits - he’d wrestled old albums from Yuuri’s nervous grasp and poured over them with Yuuri’s mother. It felt strange that he was now planning his future with a man whose past he didn’t know at all.

Around 3 Katya got a call from her husband. Apparently, the rental car had broken down, and it’d be an hour before he could get another. Since the car seat was still in the rental, Victor offered to pick him up in his own car while Katya and Yuuri waited at the apartment with Aleksey. Then he’d circle back, pick up Katya and Aleksey, and drive them all back to their hotel.

“Thank god you’re good for _something_ other than skating,” she said teasingly, but still thankful.

“Yes, yes. In my next life, I’ll become a chauffeur!”

When Victor left, Yuuri and Katya were alone. Except for Aleksey and Makkachin, of course, both of whom napped peacefully. Yuuri felt awkward, a bit unsure as to how to entertain her at this point - Victor had been the one leading most of the conversation that afternoon. Thankfully, Katya saved him the agony by starting up the conversation again herself.

"So. What's it like to have Victor Nikiforov as your coach?"

She placed her elbows on the table, chin in her hands as if she were waiting to hear the latest gossip.

"It's..."

"You know I was one of the few who wasn't surprised when Victor announced taking time off. But I was astounded that he decided to coach someone else."

Yuuri scratched his head.

"To be honest, I was too. One day I was just an average figure skater trying to figure out my career, the next I was an average figure skater confronted by a naked Viktor Nikiforov offering to be my coach."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's so like him."

"What, nakedly propositioning people left and right for unnecessary amounts of attention?" Yuuri appeared to bristle with contempt.

Katya choked on her leftover tea, before frantically waving her arms. "Oh no, Yuuri don't stay mad at him. I did not want this to turn into a dramafest, even if it's all Victor's fault. I swear I was just teasing him before. He's totally in love with you and totally different from bef-" Katya stopped her attempts to placate whom she thought was an angry fiancé when she noticed Yuuri's teasing eyes. He was just kidding. She rubbed her temples, finally feeling the little arguments and silliness pile up in her brain. "Ugh, you guys are annoyingly perfect for each other."

Though he knew she didn't mean it that way, Yuuri found the statement oddly flattering.

"What was Victor like before?"

"A charming asshole."

Yuuri couldn't help but laugh,  "So not so different from now, huh?"

"I don't know about that..." She smiled at Yuuri as if she were admiring him.

"Hm?"

"His eyes sparkle now. His smiles seem even brighter. I think it's because 80% of the time you're in the room, he's looking at you. It's like that on TV too, and that's excluding the time you're on the ice and actually supposed to be the center of attention."

Yuuri blushed for the millionth time that day.

"That's a little-"

"It's true! You're like a Victor-eye-magnet!" she said with a wink. "Unless it's about figure skating, Victor's attention span is usually null. As soon as I quit skating, it’s like I fell off the face of the planet. I wasn’t really part of his world anymore. I guess I got busy with other things too, but still.” For a moment her eyes betrayed a bit of melancholy, like she missed something. But the look didn’t stay for long. She recovered quickly. “Well. I guess that’s what Instagram’s for.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure what was going on in Katya’s mind at this point, but he could guess. His fiancé had a tendency to be a bit one-track minded when it came to figure skating. Both he and Victor hadn’t been great at maintaining relationships outside of the skating community, though at least Yuuri had his family behind him. Was that why he hadn’t met Victor’s family yet?

As if answering Yuuri’s internal question, Katya continued with her Victor anecdotes, “Whenever we hung out before, his eyes would constantly dart this way and that - like he was impatient for the next thing. He was like that as a kid too."

Yuuri's curiosity peaked. "Really?"

"Mmhmm. He was such a little idiot. His nanny would have to chase after him on the ice every time because he refused to leave. Victor doesn't really remember that though. He has a shit memory."

Yuuri nodded in agreement, trying to suppress his sigh at his fiancé's famed forgetfulness.

"But it's not just that. His focus on ice skating was intense back then, in a different way from now. Almost desperate. It was the only thing he had, I guess."

"The only thing?"

Katya cocked her head to the side, furrowing her brow as she considered her words carefully. "Have you guys ever talked about Victor's family?"

Yuuri shrugged a little. "He's mentioned his nanny. And his mom. He said she died when he was young."

"And his dad?"

Yuuri thought back to the first time they had even broached the subject of his parents. In spite of the tragedy, Victor was somewhat open about discussing his mother. Since she had died while he was young, he didn't know her well enough to feel the pain of missing her. However, he had always been enchanted by the story of her he had managed to piece together from his nanny and other relatives. She was a music teacher, fond of dancing and singing. Apparently, all her students had loved her, and people recalled her bringing magic with her wherever she went. In all these stories, his father was notably absent. All Yuuri knew was his occupation - he ran a music school.

Katya didn't need to hear Yuuri confirm what she already knew. Instead she looked into her mug, thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, I get it."

"Why?"

She tapped a finger on the table, as if she needed to deliberate carefully. "To be honest, I don’t know for sure myself. All I can tell you is that I never saw his father at the rink once, even when we were children. You haven’t met him either, right?"

Not knowing how to respond, Yuuri simply nodded. Before long, the two heard raspy whines on the baby monitor. Makkachin started scratching on the door, apparently awoken by Aleksey’s whines and ready to help save him from whatever terror he was facing. Katya groaned a little.

“A mother’s work is never done,” she sighed, as she walked over to the bedroom to pick up the now crying Aleksey. She came back to the dining area when the baby calmed down a bit more, rocking him back and forth in her arms. Yuuri couldn’t help but admire her a little. Even with a crying baby in her arms, Katya still looked like she was dancing. Katya caught his look and raised an eyebrow, as if it reminded her of something.

"I think I should warn you of something before Victor comes back," she said finally.

"What?"

"It seemed a little like Victor was looking at you looking at Aleksey. I think he was watching for a reaction."

Yuuri's back immediately straightened.

"It's not something we've really talked about before."

"Probably all you talk about is sex and skating."

Yuuri didn't say anything, but his blush confirmed it.

"And that's fine, for now. But you guys are engaged, and Victor's reaching 30. It's not a bad time to start thinking about starting a family. Of course, the timeline's not the same for you - no need to worry about eggs and sperm count. But it all goes by pretty quickly. I bet Victor's fantasizing about you guys being cute and old in matching sweaters with a beach house where you can invite the grandkids for Christmas."

"Really? Victor?" Though now that Katya mentioned it, the idea didn't sound too bad at all. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing a couple of cute kids with heart-shaped smiles running along a beach as him and an older, somehow sexier version of Victor followed behind holding hands.

"He's more thoughtful than you think. Even Victor knows the two of you can't skate like you do forever. You could get a few more years by doing shows - maybe you'll both become coaches, but even as coaches, you'll still have a lot more energy and time than you'll know what to do with. There's life and love beyond professional skating, you know?"

Yuuri's eyes glinted at Katya's mention of Victor's beloved tagline. "L&L."

“I...I don’t even know how we’d do that. I have no idea what the laws are here for…” he couldn’t quite say the word ‘adoption.’ Saying it aloud felt like already making a decision, and he wasn’t ready to make one yet.

Katya continued, undeterred. “Laws change. And there are ways around it.”

Before the conversation could continue, Victor came back with Katya's sheepish, but kind-looking husband in tow. They gathered all of Aleksey’s things (which had somehow strewn themselves all across the apartment) and said some quick good-byes, but as they were leaving Katya stopped suddenly when they reached the door.

"Ah! Vitya, I almost forgot." She rummaged through one of the pockets in the stroller and pulled out an envelope. "From Tanya. I was in the neighborhood while we were visiting some friends and dropped by. She asked me to pass this on to you."

Victor sighed. "She knows she can just call me."

Katya shrugged. "You know how she is with phones. She thinks everything’s being tapped."

"And why are you the messenger?"

"She's fighting with the town post office again. She's worried they won't allow the letter to be delivered."

Victor laughed a little. "Typical."

Tanya - Yuuri recognized the name as being the identity of Victor's nanny and the family housekeeper. He spoke fondly of her and her many eccentricities. She was the woman who had practically raised him and had been the one to regale him with the most stories about his mother. As far as Victor’s past was concerned, he knew the most about Tanya, though he still hadn’t met her. Would that change soon?

And just like that, the tea time visit with Katya Kovalevsky was over, just as abruptly as it had begun. Yuuri proceeded to clean up the apartment while Victor took Makkachin out for another walk. They hadn’t settled anything for dinner yet, but Yuuri started cooking something anyway - he was starving. Cookies and tea weren’t exactly a meal.

As soon as Victor was back, they silently scarfed down the omurice Yuuri had spliced together from some of the food they had randomly grabbed from the grocery store, cleaned up, and sat on the couch to relax a bit before going to bed. Yuuri reached for the remote to turn on their usual soap, but Victor stopped him before he could pick it up.

“Yuuuurrriii.”

Ah. He loved it when Victor said his name that way, even if it meant he was about to receive some kind of lecture or scolding.

"Do you really think I'd invite an ex to our home without asking you first?"

"I-" Yuuri hesitated. It wasn’t exactly what he thought was coming, but he supposed he should have expected it. And he knew that even Victor wasn't that thoughtless. But now that he really thought about it, was it really fair for Yuuri to have the free-spirited, living legend walk on eggshells around him just because Yuuri was a little anxious sometimes? The old guilt from their earlier days eked its way into his heart again - the feeling that Yuuri had somehow been restricting Victor, taking him away from the world stage to support him and him alone. Even after he convinced Victor to return to skating, he was still having him work double time just so they could both skate and compete on the same ice.

"You still have exes you're friends with, right? You should be allowed to see friends when you want."

Victor shook his head. "There are a few, but none who I'd just casually invite to our home for tea. Besides, I don't think any of them can bake like Katya can."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to consult me over everything."

"But I _want_ to consult with you over everything. Isn't that what it means to be life partners?"

 _Life partners_. He liked the ring of it. Somehow it sounded even better than husbands.

"Yuuri,” Victor continued,”It's normal to be a little uncomfortable around your fiancé's ex. It's normal to ask for a heads up before meeting a former lover. I feel like you think you're asking for too much when really you're not asking for enough. I would give you anything you asked for."

"Anything?" Yuuri raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

"Not that hideous, baby blue tie. It's gone forever. I made sure of that," Victor replied, completely stone faced and serious.

At that Yuuri had to laugh. "No, no, no. Anyway this argument is silly. I wasn’t really that jealous in the first place."

Victor pouted. "But why were you so nervous? You're surrounded by famous figure skaters all the time. You are one. Katya's not so different."

"Yeah, ok, but other figure skaters don't have the same history with you."

"Chris knows me more intimately than Katya at this point."

"Chris knows _everyone_ more intimately," Yuuri sighed.

"So you _were_ jealous?"   

"No! Well, kind of. I mean..."

How could he express this? It wasn’t exactly jealousy, but he knew he hadn’t been at ease the whole day. Of course Victor would pick up on that. He scrunched his face, trying to put together the words in his brain as they spilled out of his mouth.

"It's not the kind of history she has with you. It's the fact that _we_ don't have history...yet. When Katya came in today and started talking about your childhood, I realized I still have a lot to learn from you and about you. We’re...life partners. But there’s a lot about your life that I don’t know yet."

“Yuuri...” Victor exhaled, somewhat surprised.

“It won’t change the way I feel about...us. About you. I already know you now, so it’s not like your past changes things,” Shit. Yuri realized he was contradicting himself. “I don’t know, what am I even saying? Sorry if I’m being selfish. I just-”

“It’s not selfish.”

Victor had grabbed Yuuri’s hand somewhere in the middle of his babbling. “You’re right,” he said, putting the hand on his cheek, having Yuuri’s hand caress it. “I haven’t been very fair, have I?”

Yuuri brushed his thumb across the very same cheek.

“I wouldn’t say that…”

Victor brought down Yuuri’s hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. “All right, my little fan boy,” he teased. “I will grant you an exclusive on Victor Nikiforov’s mysterious past. But tomorrow, ok? There’s not much to talk about, but it’s still not very easy for me. Does that make sense?”

Yuuri nodded, not needing much more than that. “That’s fine. Whatever you want to share with me is fine.” He leaned in and touched his forehead to Victor’s, eyes closed, simply appreciating the closeness. He then slipped down onto Victor’s chest and reached for the remote again.

“Ok - now we _have_ to find out what happened to the twin sister. Did she get left at the altar or what?”

Victor laughed and let Yuuri switch on the TV. They sat in comfortable silence as the very silly drama played out before them. Afterwards the two prepared for bed, allowing themselves an early night. They were both getting old, apparently.

Yuuri returned from his shower to find Victor already in bed reading Tanya’s letter. His eyes sparkled with laughter, apparently amused by whatever tales he was being regaled with. Yuuri tucked himself in close to Victor, nuzzling his head against his side while he continued to read. He almost nodded off to sleep when he realized something in the air had changed. Victor’s arm seemed stiffer than before, and he had been rather silent for a while. Yuuri looked up to find his fiancé’s eyes narrowing, no longer warm with the joy from before. He waited a beat. Then two. Then three. Victor said nothing, but Yuuri knew he had already stopped reading.

"Victor?"

He didn't respond right away. His mind seemed to be puzzling something out. Before Yuuri could ask if he was all right, Victor finally answered.

"My father is dying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Concerns? I hope so. Would love to hear from you :)
> 
> I unfortunately came in late to the fandom, but I really wanted to get this idea I had about Victor's past out of my brain before the movie came out (which we're all guessing will have something to do with his past, right?). This may not be so interesting for many, because it deals with a lot of made up background story drama for Victor, meaning a majority of the characters here are OCs, but it was fun to write. The chapter count may change - I'm between 5 and 6. We'll see what happens. In any case, all the key moments have already been written, so no need to worry about things going unfinished.
> 
> Also sorry that the backstory is tragic, but judging from the the way Victor is in the series, I feel like it couldn't not be? In any case, there's a bittersweet, but ultimately happy outcome for it all and there will be lots of hugs and affection in between.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/)


	2. Caring for Porcelain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor needs a hug. Yuuri struggles with Russian. Makkachin remains cute. They all struggle on the worst road trip ever and battle extreme heat.
> 
> Also we meet an adorable 7 year old Victor.

Victor hadn’t needed to do much convincing to get Yuuri to come with him to Solnelchik.

Yuuri said yes without hesitation, in spite of the fact that they’d have to cancel their scheduled rink time to go over new changes in Yuuri’s routines. But the skater insisted it was fine to push back their schedules for the trip, especially if it was a family issue. In fact Yuuri did more than insist. He was adamant. Victor was the one in need of convincing.

“Yuuri, I don’t even know if _I_ want to go. As your coach, I shouldn’t be encouraging you to move your entire schedule around me and my family drama. Grand Prix season is starting soon, and every day we lose counts. Besides, Tanya’s probably being overly dramatic.”

An excuse. Yuuri saw right through it.

“Overly dramatic? About your father dying? The woman sent you a covert letter via your non-ex-lover. I’m pretty sure she’s serious.”

Even Yakov had encouraged Victor to go. When he called the old geezer to tell him he was changing his practice schedule to visit his father, Yakov sounded relieved. _“I see. Good. Work things out, Vitya. If the man is really dying, now is the time.”_

Victor shuddered after the call. He had learned after years of witnessing Yakov coaching himself and others that if Yakov was the one lecturing you on handling your personal problems, you were probably in more trouble than an ordinary man could handle.

Thank god Victor wasn’t ordinary.

Ordinarily, Victor wouldn’t have tried to go at all had it not been for Yuuri’s earnest plea to learn more about his past. Victor still hadn’t made good on his promise, both of their attentions being taken over by planning their impromptu trip. However, Victor’s hesitance wasn’t just his own. He was certain his father didn’t want him to visit at all.

Every interaction they had after Victor had moved out to St. Petersburg had to be initiated by Victor. He was the one who had to write. He was the one who had to call. He was the one who had to visit. And when he did all those things, he’d get little to no response. It was exhausting and sometime in his early 20s, he had stopped altogether. By the time he met Yuuri, it had probably been years since he had communicated directly with the stern man.

He still checked in with Tanya on occasion, though that was spotty depending on her changing opinions of the phone lines or her epic battles with the post office. He received news secondhand through her on goings on in the town and occasionally his father. But even the expressive Tanya couldn’t manage much of a response to Victor’s inquiries about him. _“Oh you know,”_ she’d say. _“The usual.”_

When he tried to get ahold of Tanya this time, he had to call several neighbors and convince them to convince her that the government probably wasn’t interested in a phone call about a family visit. Old safety and self-preservational habits were hard to shake off.

_“Vitya, I love you, but we have to make this call short. You never know what could happen to us if-”_

_“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I know,”_ Victor said, trying desperately not to laugh. Tanya didn’t like it when he didn’t take her privacy concerns seriously. _“I just wanted to let you know that I’m coming and I’m bringing Yuuri with me. We’re arriving on Friday - is that all right?”_

 _“You’re coming?! And you’re bringing Katsuki Yuuri?!”_ Victor heard some crashing noise in the background. He decided it was best to ignore it.

_“Yes. But you can just call him Yuuri.”_

_“But Japanese people are so formal and lovely and polite! I don’t want him to think all Russians are rude like you are!”_ She muttered something about letting all that gold inflate his head. He had to bite back a comment about how gold wasn’t a very good inflation device.

_“Anyway, those are the plans. Just so you know.”_

The other end went silent for a bit, as if Tanya was waiting for Victor to say something else. He almost hung up, reasoning that she’d want to finish the phone call sooner rather than later anyway, but he stopped when he heard her voice perk up again.

_“Anything else, Vitya?”_

Damn. He seemed to be getting more and more transparent lately. He hesitated. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately too.  

 _“I know you said he’s not doing well,”_ he started, trying to keep his tone casual. _“But are you sure he really wants me there? It’s been years.”_

_“He’s your father. Of course he wants you there. He just...doesn’t know how to ask.”_

He chewed the inside of his cheek, holding back more contrarian comments. He had given his father years to figure it out. Victor was no parenting expert, but shouldn’t the parent be the one to initiate at least 50% of the contact, if not 100%? Somehow dutifully going to visit his father just because he was maybe dying felt disingenuous. Life wasn’t a soap opera. They weren’t going to magically repair their relationship just because his father was on his deathbed.

 _“All right, I understand.”_ He did not understand. _“If that’s what you say, then I believe it.”_ He did not believe it. _“I’ll see you on Friday. We’ll get probably there around 6.”_

He hung up before Tanya could add anything. He felt a pang of guilt, but more so for Tanya rather than his father. He knew he was being immature - regardless of his issues with his father, shouldn’t he have just been content with going back for Tanya’s sake?

As they packed their things on Thursday night, Victor could see Yuuri was thinking. He had been spacing out at dinner, his fork occasionally missing his mouth. Victor had had to ask him questions twice.

When they went to bed for the night, Victor got a bit impatient. Sometimes Yuuri still needed a little push to get out of his own head.

“You’ve been thinking.”

“...yes.”

Victor waited a bit for elaboration, but none came. “About what?”

Yuuri buried himself deeper beneath the covers until his eyes just barely looked over the blanket. “It might not be my place to say…”

Victor shifted and leaned over to meet Yuuri’s gaze, practically straddling him in the process. He grabbed Yuuri’s hands, which were still clutching the sheets, and pulled them down to reveal his lover’s entire face. “It’s always your place to say. Didn’t we clarify that the other day?”

Rather than seeming cornered, Yuuri looked Victor in the eye, serious and level-headed. “Then I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.”

“How could I not?”

Yuuri scrunched up his mouth in that very cute way he often did when he was working things out in his brain. It took every ounce of Victor’s self-control not to kiss him during those times. Were it not for Victor’s noble sacrifice, Yuuri Katsuki would never get any thinking done.

“I think...I know you don’t want to go. I don’t know why exactly, but I know you don’t want to. But it’s good that we’re going. I don’t want you to have any regrets in case the worst happens.”

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri went on, undaunted. “I know it’s not the same situation. But when I was away from Hasetsu for five years, I always regretted not returning for a visit - not even once.”

Victor had an inkling of where this was going.

“And then at Sochi, when I…”

“Yuuri, it’s ok...I know-”

“Let me finish.”

Victor nodded, quieting himself.

“At Sochi, when I wasn’t there for Vicchan after years of running myself into the ground just to pursue my dream, I broke,” Yuuri stopped, wringing his hands around the sheets in distress. “No, this is coming out all wrong. I don’t want to compare the story of my dying pet to a dying parent. It’s not the same.”

Victor stayed silent, but leaned his forehead to Yuuri’s in case he needed to calm down. They had already gone over the story before, and the man had made his peace with it and moved on. But Victor had learned very well through Yuuri - just because you’ve moved on from something, it doesn’t mean the ache will go away completely. It could lessen over time, but it doesn’t disappear. Once he felt Yuuri relax, he decided it was time to tell the hard truth. It all came out in a whisper.

“I get it. And you shouldn’t feel like you’re making some shallow comparison. In all honesty, your relationship with your dog then was probably better than my relationship with my dad is now, so maybe I’m the shallow one.”

Yuuri bit his lip, however, perhaps a bit unsure if VIctor was just trying to make him feel better. It was time to go for the jugular.

“This is going to sound horrible, but I’d be more devastated about Makkachin dying than I am now about the prospect of my father dying.”

Makkachin’s ears perked up at the sound of her name, walking over to the bed to see what the fuss was. She jumped onto the bed and nuzzled Victor’s leg, making him drop his hand instinctively to scratch her head as Yuuri considered the weight of Victor’s words.

“Did...something happen?”

Victor’s mouth tightened with guilt, knowing he did not deserve his sweet Yuuri, who was apparently attempting to reason away his selfishness.

“It wasn’t any one thing. He’s not a bad person. He just hasn’t been a good father. And I guess I haven’t been a very good son. We’re not good at the whole...family thing.”

It was hard for Victor to explain, and Yuuri seemed confused. “Well it’s not exactly a skill…”

He tried a different tactic. “Even though you were away for 5 years, did anything feel different with them when you got back?”

Yuuri shook his head no.

“That’s amazing. And they didn’t know me at all, but they embraced me completely and were so warm. I felt like I didn’t have to prove anything to them. That was so new and beautiful. And it’s just not like that at all with my dad.”

He saw emotion flicker in Yuuri’s eyes. It wasn’t judgment or pity, but sadness - sadness on Victor’s behalf. Touched, but unhappy with the idea of Yuuri being sad just for his sake, he raised his hands up to pinch his fiancé’s adorable cheeks playfully.

“I was fine. I had Tanya, at least. She was basically a surrogate mother. So be careful, my little Katsudon. She’s very nosey and very stubborn. She might interrogate you about your intentions with her beloved little Vitya in the best broken English you’ve ever heard! It was terrible when I was a teenager and came home to visit - we drove each other crazy!”

He didn’t seem to buy the deflection, pulling Victor’s hands away from his cheeks and knitting his eyebrows with worry. Sensing this, Victor rolled off of him, holding onto the covers and taking it with him as he rolled to his usual side of the bed. Makkachin yelped in surprise at the sudden movement and jumped off the bed, offended. When Victor stopped rolling, he was wrapped up snugly with the entire comforter and top sheet to himself.

“Victor!”

Before Victor could unroll himself, Yuuri got on top and locked Sushi-Victor between his thighs, laughing all the while.

“Oh Yuuri, you know I love being wrapped up in those thighs of yours, but maybe with a little less...fabric between us?”

A playful cry of exasperation escaped Yuuri’s lips as he buried his head into the bulge of comforter right beneath Victor’s chin. Victor tilted his head down, his arms stuck beneath the covers. Yuuri also looked up, meeting Victor’s gaze.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Victor had the distinct feeling that Yuuri wasn’t just referring to his silly flirting. He knew he wasn’t completely off the hook for the issues with his father, but it seemed like Yuuri felt it was enough for the evening.

“Anyway,” Yuuri said, lifting himself off of Victor and tugging the comforter and sheet off of him, “We have a 7 hour drive tomorrow. No funny business. We’re going to sleep _now_.”

At that point, Victor had to protest. It was unfair of Yuuri to wrangle him in the sweet paradise of his legs and then pull it away like it had been a joke. Sometimes he could be such a tease.

“But Yuuri, 7 hours isn’t even that bad. Not in Russia!  It’ll basically be a relaxing countryside trip!”

His pleas went unanswered as Yuuri merely laughed and said good night. Victor attempted to sulk loud enough to get the man’s attention, but Yuuri ignored him. Giving up for the night, Victor turned on to his side and decided he might as well sleep and save his energy for tomorrow.

Unfortunately, their very relaxing countryside trip kicked off to a not so relaxing start.

And Victor found that even he had to struggle to smile through it all.

The trouble began when Victor turned on the car and discovered the air conditioning wasn’t working.

“Hmmm...weird,” Victor said, fiddling with the controls to see if he could adjust anything and checking the warning signals on the dashboard. “I just had the car maintenanced before we went to Hasetsu. I haven’t driven it since. They should’ve noticed something like this.”

Yuuri checked his phone and frowned. “I don’t know...maybe we should try taking a train instead? I read that it’s going to be really hot today.”

“Pssh,” Victor said in disbelief. “This part of Russia doesn’t get that hot. It’s not like summer in Hasetsu. We should be fine if we keep the windows open.”

It was not fine.

That day was the start of an unusual heat wave that would terrorize western Russia for the whole week. Weather forecasters predicted that they’d hit record highs before the summer was over.

Makkachin whined in the back, sticking her head out for as long as possible to feel some kind of breeze. Yuuri and Victor didn’t fare well either, both of them melting by the time it was noon. They had only been driving for 2 hours.

They found a rest stop that had air conditioning and had to do a full restock of their water supply. When Victor tried to walk Makkachin through a pathetic patch of grass to stretch her legs, she balked at the idea, pulling Victor to the side of the building to stay in the shade. He couldn’t blame her.

After they hit the 4 hour mark of their trip, Yuuri smelled something odd - like something was burning. Sure enough, Victor saw steam rising from the front of the car. They pulled over, Victor getting out of the car and popping up the hood to investigate. As soon as he propped it up, he realized he had no idea what he was doing or what the hell he was looking at. He didn’t take long driving trips very often, and he hardly ever had maintenance issues while on the road. Was there something he was supposed to look for? Some tube or gear that needed to be moved?

He pulled out his phone and called roadside assistance services. Apparently they weren’t the only ones in trouble - the waiting time was 2 hours.

“Everything...ok?” Yuuri asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead for the millionth time that day. His cheeks glowed from the heat, his glasses leaving red marks on the bridge of his nose. Were it not for the fact that Victor felt like a disgusting mess, he might have found it sexy. Instead the two of them hadn’t dared touch each other for the entire trip for fear of the other’s body heat.

“Yes, yes. I’m pretty sure there’s a rest stop ahead in ten minutes. Let’s take the risk and wait for the roadside people there rather than sit here in the sun. Everything’s alright.”

Things were kind of alright.

The good news was that the roadside workers came an hour earlier than expected. The bad news was, after taking a look at the car, they said they’d need to tow it into a shop to get it fixed.

Victor wasn’t the superstitious type, but he was beginning to think all the mishaps were a sign that they shouldn’t have been making the trip in the first place.

At the shop, as he filled out some paperwork, Victor glanced over at Yuuri and Makkachin, who were sitting at the opposite side of the garage. They were holding up, but their total unwillingness to play even a little bit with the ball they had brought was a dead giveaway. He slipped the mechanic he was talking to an extra bill to encourage that they work a little faster and move up the priority of their car. They were already overcharging him for their services, but seeing his man and his pup suffer was too much to bear.

The rest of the trip went off without a hitch, and was more manageable with working air conditioning. Makkachin slept the rest of the way while Yuuri fiddled with the radio and looked out the window. The area they were passing through was mostly covered in forest. Not much to see, in Victor’s opinion. The best part of the drive wouldn’t be until they were much closer to Solnelchik. Even Victor looked forward to that part.

Solnelchik was a sleepy town, but it had somehow been able to maintain its old elegant charm through well-kept architecture and monuments. It sat on the shore of a lake, many of its church towers and spires providing a breathtaking view at sunset. He’d certainly have to arrange a romantic evening with Yuuri to catch that.

When they exited the highway and reached Solnelchik Yuuri sat a bit more upright, having much more interest in what he saw. Cute pink and blue buildings. Churches made of bright red brick topped with the typical onion domes and crosses. Old style residential cottages dotting the streetside. When they passed the heart of town and headed towards the outskirts, they followed a road along the lake. The sun was already hidden behind the trees, but the orange hues of the sky reflected in the water. From the corner of his eye, Victor could see Yuuri’s eye sparkle at the sight. It wasn’t the same as looking out at the sea on the beach in Hasetsu or in St. Petersburg, but it still held its own magic.

The Nikiforov house sat a bit further out from town, but not far from the lakeside. It was relatively isolated and surrounded by trees - the nearest neighbor was 2 km away. As they pulled up, Victor could feel Yuuri shift in his seat as he took in his surroundings. Victor checked his phone. They were 2 hours later than they had planned. He hoped Tanya hadn’t suspected some spy group of taking them out along the way. When they got out of the car, relieved to have actually reached their destination, Victor saw a figure bolt out of the house. Of course, it was Tanya.

In spite of being a little jealous, Victor was glad she opted to greet Yuuri first, showering him with many unnecessary kisses.

“Welcome, welcome! So happy! So happy!”

_“Tanya, I’ve never heard your English before. Have you been practicing?”_

She straightened out, eyeing Victor. _“Shush, Vitya. Don’t tease me. I am too old for languages.”_

Her expression softened when Victor bent over for a kiss. _“Welcome home, Vitya.”_

Yuuri managed some accented, but proper greetings to Tanya in Russian. Tanya cooed over his skills, praising him a little too much. Yuuri had learned a good deal of Russian since he arrived, but his conversational skills were shy and rough. It probably didn’t help that they never practiced at home, both always falling back into English when the conversation got too difficult. He would never forget the disastrous “Russian Week,” in which the two attempted only to speak Russian for a whole seven days. The week had ended with Makkachin howling, Yuuri locking himself in the bedroom, and Victor almost burning down the apartment. He had read somewhere that people had different personalities in other languages, and he believed it.

After Victor wrangled a sleeping Makkachin out of the backseat and Yuuri unloaded their bags from the trunk, they were herded into the house quickly. No one was particularly hungry, the snacks from the rest stop having tied them over and the heat having zapped them of any normal appetite. They opted to sit in the kitchen and chat over the cool drinks Tanya pulled from the fridge. Makkachin lapped a bit out of the water bowl then quickly got distracted by the newfound environment and wandered around the house. Neither Victor nor Yuuri had the energy to stop her, and Tanya didn’t seem to care, more interested in bombarding the two with millions of questions.

It was then that Victor realized his nanny held an odd assortment of beliefs regarding marriage.

She excitedly asked Victor about the details of their wedding planning and insisted that they get married at the local cathedral. She gushed over how handsome the two would look in matching tailored suits, surrounded by the beautiful stained glass the cathedral was known for.

_“I’m pretty sure the Russian Orthodox Church would frown upon a wedding for two men, regardless of how attractive they both are.”_

She waved off Victor’s concern as if it were a small detail.

_“It’s fine, it’s fine. We can ask Father Ivanov to do the ceremony. I have known his family for years. He couldn’t possibly refuse.”_

Victor sighed, knowing it wasn’t worth attempting to explain why Father Ivanov would still say no, and that due to both legal and cultural issues, they planned on doing a small, symbolic ceremony in Hasetsu and an even smaller private party in St. Petersburg.

As Tanya continued, attempting to ask a slightly blushing Yuuri how he liked the idea of a church wedding with an odd mix of Russian and English, Victor took it all in. It felt surreal to come back to this place after so long, and even more so with Yuuri by his side. He looked around the kitchen - not much had changed. Still old-fashioned. Still homey. Still tidy. He looked at his phone again to check the time - it was almost 9. His father usually shuffled into the kitchen to take his coffee around that hour.

 _“Tanya,”_ Victor interrupted, not even thinking. _“Where is he? Sleeping already?”_

She had stopped. Her animated expression withered a bit.

_“He’s in the hospital. He hasn’t been home for two months.”_

_“Two months?”_ Victor felt dumbstruck. _“You didn’t tell me he was being hospitalized!”_

There had been a part of him that had been thoroughly convinced that Tanya’s letter had exaggerated things, maybe because of her own paranoia or because she wanted to convince him to visit. She had said his father was passing soon, but hadn’t given any details as to why or how.

_“What’s his condition? What’s wrong exactly?”_

_“He won’t tell me. And Grisha won’t tell me either! Some silly business about patient privacy. He said he could only discuss it with family.”_

Grisha - or Grigory - was someone Victor had grown up with, a boy from a family of doctors. It seemed like he had become one himself and was now the gatekeeper withholding information from Tanya. Suddenly, all of Victor’s misgivings about coming dissipated. He felt terrible now that he had concrete evidence that something was really wrong.

_“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”_

Tanya seemed to not want to say. She merely looked down at the table.

_“He told you not to tell me.”_

She nodded.

_“Then why am I here?”_

“Victor...”

Victor’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. Yuuri. They had totally shut him out of the conversation. The man seemed to struggle to get words out, but the language barrier locked his tongue. He wasn’t sure how much of the exchange Yuuri had followed, but apparently enough to seem troubled. Or maybe it wasn’t the conversation at all. Victor suddenly noticed how rigid he’d become, how the volume of his voice had intensified. His hand was held tight in a fist, and his jaw felt strained. Being back in Solnelchik was already ripping the seams of his usual self-control.

 _“Vitya,”_ Tanya said, gently touching his clenched fist. _“Tomorrow. Let’s go together tomorrow morning.”_

Victor could only nod, not wanting to continue at the risk of losing his composure completely.

When neither Victor nor Yuuri could suppress their yawns, it was time for bed. Tanya stood up and motioned for them to follow. At the sound of their movement, Makkachin returned from her exploration and followed them. As they walked through the house and up the stairs, she decided to bring the discussion back to their wedding. She babbled on about how they would decorate the church - perhaps they could have a fairy tale themed wedding? She had seen that on TV before. Victor had stopped chiming in long ago, allowing his very loving nanny to plan the over-the-top wedding he wished he could have. His smile grew as she mentioned ways she might be able to sew part of his mother’s wedding veil into a lovely pocket square for the breast pocket of Victor’s suit. Or maybe she could integrate it in the boutonnière to frame the flower! The smile fell, however, when he realized Tanya had stopped and presented them with two separate rooms, each holding a small single-occupant bed.

“ _Tanya...what is this?”_

_“What, Vitya?”_

_“You could have just set up my old room - it has a large bed we could share. You didn’t have to set up the guest rooms.”_

She tut-tutted her disapproval.

_“Vitya! You are unmarried! Until you and Yuuri have announced yourselves before God, you are to sleep in separate beds!”_

He sighed, somewhat exasperated and was about to walk onwards towards his old room, but Tanya tugged on his sleeve, clucking her tongue.

_“Your father had your old room converted into a library years ago. Your old bed was donated to a convent.”_

The irony wasn’t lost on Victor. He didn’t bother to hide his displeasure, causing Tanya’s eyes to narrow. It was a familiar situation for both of them. The fact that Victor was now a world famous adult with several gold medals and his own apartment did not change their dynamic one bit. Before he could start complaining or Tanya could start lecturing, Yuuri interrupted. He bid them both good night in his best Russian (almost accentless this time). His strained, polite smile, though pointed at Tanya, was clearly a message for Victor: _If you continue this I’m going to collapse._

Tanya chuckled.

“Tired, yes?”

Yuuri nodded, his smile becoming more worn and exhausted by the second.

“I leave you.” She gave Victor a good night kiss on the cheek and told him to behave himself before she descended the stairs. Victor waited until he could no longer hear the her footfall against the creaky floor and assumed she had reached the door and left the house.

Yuuri was already inside one of the rooms with Makkachin following him, laying out his things and getting settled for the night. Victor, bags still in hand, followed after him. “Yuuri! This isn’t-”

“We’ll put the beds together tomorrow,” Yuuri interrupted once again, anticipating Victor’s protest. “I promise. But it’s a bit late now, ok? Let’s just shower and go to sleep. We should wake up early tomorrow to visit your father.” And before Victor could say much else, Yuuri picked his pajamas out of the luggage and the towel Tanya had left at the foot of the bed, hopping in the shower first. Victor sighed, fondly this time. He was a little proud of the fact that Yuuri had managed to understand most of the situation without translation. His Russian was really improving.

Somewhat appeased, he walked across the hall into the other bedroom, placed his things next to the dresser and looked around. As a child he had used these rooms as playrooms. Tanya never bothered to stop him since they never had guests to host. By the time he was 6, Victor had claimed the entire second floor as his imaginary wonderland, each room serving a unique purpose. This particular room was reserved for tea parties. At that moment, a proper wave of nostalgia hit him, forcing him to think back on the first time he had seen his father angry.

Victor had just turned seven. It was his birthday. And his first mission as a seven year old involved the family china cabinet. Though they owned a china cabinet, they didn’t have much china to speak of aside from one or two plates or bowls that had once been part of much larger sets. Each piece was lovely in its own way, but something in particular caught his attention every time he ran through the dining room. A beautiful, hand painted tea set sat on the very top shelf, far from the little boy’s reach and almost beyond his eye level, unless he was on the opposite side of the dining room and stood on a chair. Unlike the rest of the chinaware, this set was almost complete with 6 tea cups, 6 saucers, 6 plates, 1 teapot, and a sugar bowl - only the matching samovar was missing. Tanya would clean the entire set once a month, carefully laying each piece out on the dining table and polishing the nonexistent dirt from every one.

For as long as he could remember, this tea set that Tanya cared for with love and that Victor admired from afar had never been used. And that frustrated his younger self. He wanted very badly to see the delicate pattern up close. From his vantage point on the chair, he could just make out the blue rose buds strewn across the bodies of the cups with light green vines draping along the handles. The design on the teapot was even more elaborate - bouquets of blue roses in full bloom and little silver flakes that looked like snow. But whenever it came time for Tanya to clean, she would shoo him out of the room, reasoning that the rambunctious and somewhat careless child might accidentally break something.

That Sunday afternoon, while Tanya shoveled the snow in their walkway, the little Russian troublemaker found his chance. He was tired of using mismatched mugs and plates for what should have been very elegant tea parties with his many imaginary friends. He at least deserved one special, lovely tea party on his own birthday. He pushed one of the dining room chairs over to the cabinet and positioned it as close to the tea set as he could manage. He climbed on to the chair and opened the glass door that guarded his treasure. Lo and behold, there it lay within easy reach. He slowly picked up one of the cups first and examined it. It was lighter than he thought it would be. The lip of the cup was almost paper thin while the bottom of the cup just fit in his palm, making it feel all the more delicate in his small hands. The rose buds were even more beautiful up close. Thin little brushstrokes curved shadows along each vine and petal. The various hues of blue and green appeared to dance, delighting Victor.

He had planned to remove each piece from the cabinet one by one - maybe not the whole set, but at least half the cups and saucers along with the teapot. He had already taken out the necessary cups and had one of the saucers in hand when he heard a most unexpected shout.

_“Vitya!”_

The shout had come from his father. His father, even on Sundays, usually worked at the school during that time of day. Victor seldom saw him unless he sneakily managed to stay up past his bedtime after Tanya had left for the night or if he woke up too early from nightmares and wandered into the kitchen. He’d find his father sitting at the kitchen table brooding over a cup of coffee. On late nights or early mornings like those, little Victor would join his father at the table and sit beside him. Fidgeting. Waiting. Until finally his father would ask him the usual questions. How was he doing in school? Had he been well-behaved? Was he struggling with his school work? It was more like an interview than a conversation, and the man would only nod at the child’s overflowing responses. After he’d finished his questioning, he’d then escort Victor back to his bedroom and retreat to his own room. They rarely spoke otherwise.

And so when he saw his father come into the dining room with his shoulders dusted with snow, the shocked child dropped the saucer. As an adult, Victor still remembered the horrible sound it had made when it shattered into hundreds of pieces on the floor. He remembered how his blood had run cold when he saw his father’s own shocked expression.

Before he could apologize or protest, his father had grabbed him by the shoulders and carried him over to the kitchen. He sat him in a chair, kneeled in front of him, and lifted up Victor’s arms and legs as if searching for something.

 _“You little fool!”_ he said finally, grabbing his son’s shoulders once more. _“What were you thinking?! Do you know what could have happened? What you could have done?!”_

He had always wanted to hear more from his father, to hear his voice go beyond the bored sternness with which he usually inquired about his day, but not like this. Not in this anguished, shaking tone. Not with words that pierced through him as if they were the shards from the broken saucer.

At that moment, Tanya entered the kitchen from the side door that led to the garden. _“Kolya? Vitya? What-?”_

His father’s grip loosened as Tanya surveyed the situation. Her presence seemed to bring his father back to his senses. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting go of Victor completely and standing up to address the concerned nanny.

_“He was playing with Natasha’s tea set.”_

And then even young Vitya understood exactly what he had done...what he could have done. He had treasured anything of his mother’s he could collect - memories from Tanya, ribbons from her old dresser, rings from her jewelry box. But just then he had ruined one of his mother’s precious possessions, and he could have destroyed the rest.

The realization shook his body and broke out of him in the form of tears.

 _“Papa...I-I’m sorr-”_ He hiccuped, little sobs choking the words.

 _“No. Don’t apologize.”_ His father’s voice had reverted back to its typical neutral timber, but that didn’t comfort Victor at all. It felt cold. He started wailing harder and harder until Tanya wrapped him up in her arms.

 _“Vitya, shhh...it’s all right. It’s all right,”_ she cooed, stroking her fingers through his ever-growing hair.

When Victor finally calmed down, his father retreated into his study. He didn’t come out when it came time for his birthday dinner either. When Tanya left to go home after cleaning up, Victor felt as if the house had emptied. His father was silent in his study and remained so the rest of the evening.

The next afternoon, Victor walked into the dining room and saw Tanya wrapping up the tea set in tissue paper. He watched as she placed each piece into a box lined with more layers of pale blue leaflets. Victor hadn’t seen the tea set since.

As the memory echoed in his mind, Victor stared at the dark ceiling. That familiar, creeping feeling was invading his heart again. He could feel it gnawing at his chest, as if it was trying to form a hole to empty out whatever was left of him. He had been fighting it by himself for years before he met Yuuri, and usually being with Yuuri helped kick it back to the recesses of his mind where it belonged. But this time it flooded into him without mercy.

Loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback comments are always loved and replied to :)
> 
> I've been using lady pronouns to refer to Makkachin only because I was pretty sure they never mentioned Makkachin's gender in the series, so I made a quick decision. Any qualms or canon-evidence to suggest otherwise? I just liked the idea that Makkachin is the only lady to have ever captured Victor's heart (in my headcanon, Victor is gay and Yuuri is bi).
> 
> In terms of aesthetics and geography, Solnelchik is loosely based on Ostashkov, a lovely little town 5 hours out of Moscow. It’s a totally made up Russian-ish sounding name. I didn’t want to risk using an actual town name, but I’m open to replacing this with a more authentic sounding name if someone has something to volunteer. 
> 
> I have no idea what the patient information laws in Russia are, so let’s just pretend for a bit, shall we?
> 
> Kolya is a diminutive for Nikolai, meaning “victory of the people”. You can see why I felt the name was appropriate for Victor’s father.
> 
> Also - warning - content rating change for future chapters. I don’t know why I thought Mature was going to cover it. I guess I was a little unsure of how appropriate an explicit sex scene was in the middle of Victor’s family drama and emotional turmoil, but these lovers can’t seem to help themselves. I can only shrug and apologize in advance to anyone who finds it distasteful.
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/)


	3. An Appropriate Menu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor needs comforting and Yuuri obliges.  
> (Translation - Smut warning)
> 
> Yuuri meets Victor’s father and Victor runs.  
> (Translation - Angst warning)

Yuuri awoke from his shallow sleep at the sound of the door creaking open. He peered over his shoulder to see the form of his fiancé standing in the doorway, not fully entering. He glanced at the window - the moonlight was still shining through, so it wasn't morning yet. He wasn't all that surprised. He was more stunned that Victor hadn't just hopped into his bed already without asking. He sighed, scooted over to the far side of the bed and lifted the blanket, offering Victor the role of big spoon.

He hadn’t realized that Makkachin had been sleeping just below his feet. She yelped in surprise at the sudden movement, making Yuuri sit up. Offended, she hopped off and went towards Victor. Yuuri watched as Victor bent over, scratched her head and whispered something, pointing across the hall to his room where an empty bed lay open for her. She trotted off without protest. Yuuri hummed, amused, and lay down on his side again to wait for Victor.

When Victor didn’t come over immediately, Yuuri turned over and sat up again.

“Victor?”

“Sorry,” he heard the man say softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Yuuri shook his head, taken aback by Victor’s apologetic tone. “I wasn’t completely asleep anyway. Come to bed.”

Victor still hesitated. Yuuri reached over to the bed stand and grabbed his glasses. When his vision cleared, he turned his head to get a better look at Victor. 

Something was...odd.

The way Victor stood in the door seemed like he was hanging back in uncertainty, his right hand pulled back behind his neck with the other in the pocket of his lounge pants. The fact that he was wearing pants was already cause for concern. For a moment Yuuri wondered if he was dreaming and looking at someone else, or maybe a weird alternate version of his fiancé. He rarely saw Victor so unsure - it was usually reserved for the times when Yuuri’s anxiety bubbled up and overflowed.

Was it because of his father? Yuuri hadn’t caught everything, but he understood that the man was in the hospital. It had been a while since he’d seen Victor get so worked up. It was frustrating, understanding bits and pieces here and there, but not getting the full picture of what was going on. In St. Petersburg, except for when they ran errands, he barely used Russian. Most of his practice came from doing audio lessons while they were on long flights to competitions, or the handful of classes he was able to sit in on when he had days off from skating. He should have been forcing Victor to speak to him more in Russian, but the attempts exhausted them both.

Yuuri and Victor had gotten to know each other in English. Victor had learned to read Yuuri’s subtle hints of anxiety in the way he fumbled words together, and Yuuri could easily tell when Victor was being facetious. All the subtleties and intimate signals they’d learned from each other fell apart when the two attempted Russian. 

Nevertheless...

_ “Vitya...come here.” _

Victor’s eyes widened, stunned at the sound of Yuuri’s voice speaking to him in Russian. His whole body relaxed as he finally walked over to the bed, his mouth slowly unfurling into a smile. He lay down in the space Yuuri left for him, pulling the surprised man down with him in an embrace.

“Oh Yuuri,” he sighed, hugging his fiancé’s lithe body closer to his own. “I think I finally understand what you mean when you say you feel like you’re asking for too much.”

Yuuri looked up, deciding to wait patiently for Victor to explain.

“Being back in this house...it’s like being sent back through time and getting stuck. It makes me feel like a child again. Not in the good way.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but tighten his own arms around Victor as he continued.

“I used to spend days playing by myself, just waiting for Tanya to arrive. My father was always too busy, especially when I was younger, so most of the time I was just... “

“Alone…”

Victor nodded. “I know it's silly, but when I walked over, I was suddenly scared that you’d say no.” 

Yuuri broke their embrace a little to look up at his lover and reassure him. “I wouldn’t-”

“I know. I think I’m just anticipating tomorrow. It’s going to be...difficult.”

Yuuri could see it was already difficult for Victor to admit it. 

“Yuuri,” he continued. “Will you stay with me? The whole time? Is it really ok?”

In reality, it was such a humble request. It almost pained Yuuri that Victor had been so unsure about it in the first place. Was this why Victor was always confused when Yuuri hesitated to ask for help? 

Rather than explain, rather than spout endless reassurances, Yuuri stated simply, “Yes. Always.”

And apparently that was enough for Victor.

Yuuri removed his glasses again and the two settled into each other, Yuuri turning over so Victor could spoon him properly. He felt the full pressure of Victor's body behind him, his bare chest pressed against his back, his legs entangled with his own, his feet brushed against his. They usually cuddled as they slept at home, but the smaller bed forced them together in a way their normal bed did not. For a moment, Yuuri started to feel a bit uncomfortable, small beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The woolen blanket along with their combined body heats was too much. But then he began to feel another sort of heat press against his ass - a very familiar one. 

Swallowing thickly, he looked up behind him only to find Victor's blue eyes gazing back at him, his soft expression only twinging slightly as Yuuri's hair brushed against his chin. Victor's mouth hung open slightly, as if asking a silent question.   
  
They had just had a sweaty and exhausting road trip. They were in Victor's childhood home.  They had just bid goodnight to the nanny who had cared for him for years. They were only here because his sickly father was dying. And yet Yuuri couldn't turn away from his enthralling Russian fiancé.   
  
He was definitely going to hell for this.

Yuuri turned over again and grasped Victor’s jaw with both hands, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. It took Victor by surprise for a moment, but he soon recovered and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s back and gripping his shirt. 

Yuuri loved this feeling - being completely wrapped up in Victor’s embrace while their tongues met, sucking on each other’s lips and playfully biting to provoke a reaction. It was all consuming, all encompassing - like being surrounded by the warmth of his own personal sun. As Victor’s grip tightened, the kiss became more demanding, spurring both of them on into a more heated frenzy. Their legs played with each other as their abdomens pressed together, Yuuri feeling the arousal in his fiancé’s pants harden as it rubbed against him. Suddenly a desperate urge struck Yuuri, like a hunger that needed to be sated immediately. He started kissing the side of Victor’s mouth, his tongue tracing his jawline down to his neck.

“Yuuri…” Victor sighed, blissful.

At the base of Victor’s neck, he nibbled gently, adding little love bites as he continued working his way down, switching gentle bites with urgent kisses with playful licks. He had already pinned his lover flat on the bed between his arms, his legs in between Victor’s own. Hearing Victor’s moans as he went lower egged him on, almost making his mouth water as he reached the top of his pelvis. At that point he felt his primal hunger grow. He wanted to feel Victor’s length in his mouth, wanted to render him completely helpless with the caress of his tongue.

The first time he had ever done it, Yuuri had been so unsure, constantly worried if it was good for Victor or that he would hurt him somehow. Now it had gotten to a point where he craved it. He had been learning very bad habits from his coach, and he never wanted to unlearn them. 

“Vitya...” Yuuri looked up as he whispered, his fingers hooked on the waistband of Victor’s pants.

“If you want to?”

Of course Yuuri wanted to. He sucked on the space just above the waistband in answer.

“Fuck...Yuuri…”

That was all the affirmation he needed. He slipped the pants and underwear off simultaneously, Victor lifting his legs up to make it easier.

Once the clothes were tossed aside, he raised himself on his knees and took a good look at his lover’s body. Sweat beaded down the side of Victor’s face, his cheeks tinted with a blush. The mixture of the summer heat, their makeout session and Yuuri’s overtures left him panting. He was beautiful. How had Yuuri gotten so lucky? His gaze lowered to Victor’s erection, intent and twitching with need. He could see a small pearl of precum budding from the top, almost too irresistible. Yuuri lowered himself, taking the base of Victor’s cock in hand and flicking his tongue to catch the drop.

Victor’s waist practically jumped in response. Yuuri smirked, loving the power he had when Victor was like this.

_ “Vitya...tell me what you want.”  _

Yuuri stretched the words out thickly, his breath teasing the hot member in his hand.

Victor sat up a little, propping himself on his forearms to see Yuuri. His eyes were dark with lust. A low sigh escaped from his mouth just from hearing Yuuri’s Russian. 

_ “Please…”  _ he answered, his voice caught in his throat.  _ “I need you.” _

With that, Yuuri moved quickly, taking the entire length into his mouth so that the tip hit the back of his throat immediately. It made him tear up, almost gag, but he adjusted and started sucking as he slowly moved his head up. Yuuri raised his eyes to see Victor’s expression. Victor had tilted his head back in reaction, the most needy moan escaping his lips.

Yuuri let Victor’s cock fall out of his mouth, the tip brushing his lips as he growled, “Don’t take your eyes off me.” He wanted to see it all, see the wreckage on Victor’s face as he worked him to pieces. 

Victor pulled his head back up with some difficulty, his eyes wide but understanding.

Yuuri took the cock in his mouth again, this time starting at the top and gently teasing the slit with his tongue. He sucked just the tip while his tongue. He continued flicking until Victor’s hips started to buck, desperate to go deeper once more. Instead, Yuuri released it again with a pop and lowered his head to the base of his cock, removing his hand so he could lick a stripe up the entire length. He loved the taste of it, the saltiness of the sweat and precum goading him on.

He liked taking Victor at this angle. Usually Victor was standing with Yuuri on his knees bobbing, his hands entangled in Yuuri’s hair. Like that they both had a certain level of control, with Victor obviously having the upperhand. But when he was like this, lying on the bed and propping himself up with his arms, he could do nothing but watch. Victor’s hands gripped the sheets so tightly Yuuri could see the whites of his knuckles. 

He took his time, slowly working his tongue up and down, taking it into his mouth and bobbing rhythmically. His cheeks hallowed as he worked, his eyes focused on Victor’s breathless expression. He wanted more, to bring the living legend to a shaking climax just with his mouth.

He released Victor’s cock again.

“I want you to fill my mouth up with your come. I want to taste all of you.”

He could barely believe his own ears when he heard the demand coming out of his mouth. The words caused Victor’s breathing to hitch as he nodded, wordless and wanting. Being with his fiancé like this flipped a switch inside Yuuri that was bold and sensuous. Demanding and loving. It was something akin to the feeling he had when he skated, the feeling of wanting to hold everyone’s attention with his love for the ice. But here, the only attention he wanted, the only attention he needed was Victor’s. When it came to that, Yuuri felt like a conqueror.

This time when Yuuri lowered his head, he brought his hand up to help him work. The girth of Victor’s cock was making his cheek muscles sore - he needed all the help he could get. He started bobbing again, dragging his hand up with him and squeezing just above the tip, then using his trail of saliva as a lubricant to slide the shaft through his hand again and into his mouth. He continued working like this, twisting his hand around occasionally to make Victor groan. Victor was already starting to shudder. Yuuri could see him struggle to continue propping himself up, more and more sweat dripping along his entire body, his eyes lidded with desire. He had started muttering Russian phrases that were too hushed and quick for Yuuri to translate in his head. Victor was close.

Eventually he broke.

“Yuuri!” he gasped, his orgasm spilling into Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri continued bobbing slowly until he felt Victor soften. He licked the remaining come from the tip, swallowed, and kissed it. 

“I am...so blessed,” Victor panted, laughing a little. 

Yuuri sat up again to survey the damage. Victor’s legs lay sprawled around him. He had collapsed onto his back again and had to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It pleased Yuuri to see his lover so blissed out. As Yuuri came down from his own high, exhaustion struck him. He got on his hands and slowly crawled his way back up until his head was just above Victor’s. He fit himself on the side of the bed, Victor shifting to make room. Yuuri adjusted them both so that his arms could wrap around Victor, with his head laying on Yuuri’s chest. He hummed, satisfied. 

When Victor’s hands teased the waistband of Yuuri’s pants, Yuuri stopped him.   
  
"This may be a little weird,” Yuuri said, his usual shyness returning. “But somehow I just want to hold you like this for the night. Is that ok?"   
  
Victor looked up from Yuuri's chest with a curious expression on his face. However, instead of questioning, he simply nodded, perhaps too tired to insist like he usually did. Yuuri buried his nose into his lover's hair, inhaling and savoring the smell. It was a mixture of sweat and the very expensive shampoo he used that Yuuri refused to try.    
  
"Yuuri," he teased. "Are you only holding me like this so you can smell my hair while I sleep? That's perverted."   
  
Yuuri blushed as he giggled. "Yes, it's a new kink. Get used to it."   
  
Yuuri wanted to shower more affection on his fiancé - to hug him tighter, cover him with kisses, whisper sweet nothings in his ear all night long. But the temptation of sleep was already making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open. Instead he just smiled, kissed Victor on the forehead, and said his three favorite words.   
  
"I love you."

In return he received his favorite, heart-shaped smile. It was carefree and open, unlike the rest of the smiles he’d seen Victor wear the past few days. Relieved, Yuuri finally gave in and fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning sweaty with an ache in his lower back, a product of trying to squeeze two adult men in one tiny bed. He looked down and found Victor still snuggled in his arms. He regretted nothing. 

Usually Victor was up at least an hour before he was, sometimes going to the skating rink ahead of Yuuri to work out a new idea he’d had in his sleep. This trip seemed to be completely messing with all their usuals. Yuuri reached over to the bed stand to grab his phone and his glasses. It was 7:32 - early enough. Maybe they could fit in a run before visiting the hospital.

He heard some clamoring from below, like pots were being shifted around the kitchen. Was Tanya already there? 

“Mmmm... “ Victor moaned, slowly waking up. “My back is killing me.”

Yuuri laughed. “Mine too. I think we should get out of bed.” 

They both took quick showers to rinse off the sweat and got dressed. They went downstairs together, Victor taking Yuuri’s hand and leading him.

Last night, Yuuri had been too distracted by the heat to take notice of the house itself, but in the light of day, he was much more attentive. The second floor where they had slept held five rooms, including the bathroom. He assumed the two rooms he hadn’t seen were Victor’s former bedroom and maybe his father’s unoccupied room. The stairs led to a short hallway, the entrance to the kitchen waiting at the end. The kitchen itself was just big enough to fit the somewhat outdated appliances and the breakfast table where they had sat and chatted before. The walls were painted an odd pale green - a total mismatch with the light pink, floral wallpapered guest bedrooms they had just left. The kitchen was small, but neat. Homey and warm with the sunlight coming in through the small window above the sink.

Tanya was busy at the stove, stirring something slowly and adding what looked like butter with her unoccupied hand. Victor rushed over, letting go of Yuuri’s hand in distress.

_ “Not semolina porridge! Tanya!”  _

Yuuri had seen the dish on a breakfast menu before, but Victor had waved the option away in disgust. “It’s thick, disgusting white goo that’s made to fill children up and keep them full for hours. It’s functional but not palatable. I don’t know how you could serve that at a restaurant.”

The two argued, Victor pouting rather cutely while Tanya waved her wooden spoon in his face, not caring how some of the porridge flicked on to the floor. He heard her say something about nutrition and energy. Victor continued to protest, saying something about driving and groceries? Maybe that they’d get groceries for themselves. At that, Tanya opened the refrigerator, displaying a full haul of meat, vegetables and more. Victor scratched his head and said they could also cook, to which Tanya only laughed.

“It’s too hot for porridge,” Victor whined, switching to English to give himself an advantage.

Tanya scoffed, unperturbed. “You run. I cool. Come back. Eat. Hospital.”

Victor looked to Yuuri, as if somehow Yuuri would convince his nanny that they were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Yuuri switched his gaze from Victor to Tanya, who had her eyebrows raised, ready to attack if necessary.

Yuuri just shrugged and turned around to go back upstairs for his running shoes.

“Yuuri!”

“You heard her. We’re on a tight schedule, Victor.”

Victor’s face went sullen. Yuuri shrugged again.

They took Makkachin on their run along the lakeside, mitigating the effects of the hot and humid air by keeping as close to the treeline as possible. They didn't often encounter this kind of nature in St. Petersburg. Rows and rows of verdant trees without a car in sight. The morning sun reflecting on the quiet lake. An animal grazing far off in a distant clearing. None of it, however, could pull Yuuri’s focus away from Victor. Whenever they ran, Victor tended to run ahead of Yuuri and get distracted by something he saw, maybe a cafe with a new sweet to try, or a fan recognizing them and waving. This time he ran alongside Yuuri, looking straight ahead with a wistful gaze. Another “usual” bit the dust.

They returned, showered, and managed to down the porridge.

“Good energy, yes?” Tanya said, flashing a smile and a thumbs up. 

Yuuri did his best to return the smile, his mouth still full of the sweet, thick goop. Victor ate in silence, but not without another pout.

After ensuring Makkachin would be comfortable alone in the house and stocked with plenty of food and water, the group set out, Tanya driving her own car so she could go elsewhere afterward. They followed her towards the town center, passing all the lovely, ornate churches and shops before they pulled up to the hospital. 

Unlike the charming old-fashioned buildings that made up Solnelchik, the hospital was...dull. It was made up of heavy, concrete blocks with little inlets for windows lining each floor. The thing loomed large, its extensive halls apparently needed to serve several different townships. Yuuri couldn’t help but shudder a little as they parked. He wasn’t afraid of hospitals in general, but this particular one seemed more like a place of horror than a place of healing.

When they entered, Tanya rushed off in another direction, waving and saying something about visiting someone else beforehand, leaving Victor and Yuuri to make their own way through the long, maze-like hallways. The harsh fluorescent lights did nothing but exaggerate the unevenly painted pastel walls and eerily quiet dark corners. Doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors milled about the place with no sense of urgency. Time felt slow here, and no one had a destination. Yuuri found himself grabbing Victor’s hand at the sound of an elderly woman’s hacking cough. 

Victor took the hand eagerly and squeezed it as he led them over to an information desk. A bored secretary gave them the room number of Victor’s father, sending them up to the third floor in the east wing of the building.

Victor’s father was in a shared room with three other patients. When they entered, one of the other patients had visitors. The other was asleep. Victor walked past them both, leading Yuuri further into the room. They passed the room separators, Yuuri taking a deep breath and practicing his Russian greeting in his brain. There were two additional beds on the far side of the room beside the windows. To the left lay another sleeping patient and to the right sat Victor’s father.

Apparently Victor had gotten his hair from his father, the greying roots on his head contrasting with the familiar striking silver. Yuuri could understand why Victor was always so self-conscious about whether or not it was thinning. Though it didn’t quite match Yakov’s, the man’s hairline receded generously.

Yuuri had never seen someone with a more severe looking face in his life. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the man’s illness or because of the lighting in the hospital, but his cheeks appeared almost hollow, its gauntness only accentuating the traces of what once could have been a handsome jawline.

As he looked up from his newspaper, his eyes flashed in recognition. He said nothing but nodded, just to acknowledge their presence.

Victor’s hand tightened around Yuuri’s while he put on a smile. Not the open, honest and loving one he had shared with Yuuri last night, but the smile he reserved for the press when he was tired or for sponsors he didn’t like.

_ “Father, I came to see you,”  _ Victor greeted, his feet firmly planted at the foot of the bed rather than moving to the bedside to do the traditional kisses on the cheek.

_ “Obviously.” _

Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from tensing up. His father’s voice was...oddly neutral. Extremely quiet. Yuuri had to lean in a little to hear. 

_ “This is Yuuri Katsuki, my fiancé.”  _

He tensed up again. Victor hadn’t told him what his father thought about their relationship, or if he knew about Yuuri at all. 

_ “It is...an honor to meet you,”  _ he managed, his heart speeding up a bit in the hope that what he said was correct. He hadn’t noticed that he had unconsciously bowed out of habit.

_ “Nikolay Antonevich Nikiforov,”  _ the man replied, his tone unchanged. 

For a moment they stood in silence, all three of them having nothing to say. It wasn’t until Tanya burst in that Yuuri even remembered to breathe. Unlike Victor, Tanya hurried to the bedside, fussing over the blankets around Nikolay and complaining that there weren’t enough. His reaction was unbothered, simply folding his newspaper up and placing it on the bedside table. Tanya motioned for Yuuri and Victor to join her and rearranged the chairs lining the wall so they could all sit down. As they sat, Victor maintained his polite smile while Yuuri struggled with something appropriate to say or ask. 

Tanya carried on the bulk of the conversation. She seemed used to it. Yuuri didn’t catch the details, but she was apparently filling Nikolay in on the goings on in town, how Victor and Yuuri had arrived, the state of the house, how Victor and Yuuri had gone on a run around the lake. During most of her report, Nikolay only nodded and said nothing. However, the mention of Victor’s breakfast complaint drew a noticeable reaction. He gave Victor a stern look of admonishment.

_ “You are still like a child.” _

Victor merely shrugged, continuing to smile.

_ “I don’t like semolina porridge. It’s disgusting.” _

Nikolay continued scolding Victor, hushed and unhappy. As he carried on, Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was only talking about the porridge. He was making some larger point about Victor and his lack of gratefulness. Yuuri’s mind labored to keep up, his understanding of the conversation withering. The man spoke too quietly. It was difficult to piece together what he was saying when Yuuri could only hear every other word, and struggled mentally to translate a portion of the words he caught.

Suddenly Victor spoke up, breaking Yuuri’s concentration.

Both men were stubborn in their efforts to argue and maintain their unique senses of decorum, Nikolay with hushed tones and Victor with feigned positivity. The conversation sped up, leaving Yuuri far behind. He tried refocusing, looking to Tanya for some kind of body language or signal, but even Tanya had been shut out, her protests on either man’s behalf ignored.

Yuuri had never been so uncomfortably tongue-tied in his life. He regretted all the free time he had spent not studying Russian. What was he even good for at this point?

_ “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital?” _

The question drew Yuuri back into the exchange, and was the first thing that seemed to surprise Nikolay. His thin mouth stiffened, obviously not wanting to entertain the question. 

_ “Not your concern. You needn’t be here anyway.” _

Victor’s hand tightened around Yuuri’s for the upteenth time that day, but through it all he maintained the smile, though now it seemed more artful than polite.

_ “Should I leave?”  _

To that, Nikolay said nothing. Victor took his silence as an answer and got up.

_ “Vitya, wait!”  _ Tanya said, reaching out. But Victor had already let go of Yuuri’s hand and was halfway out the room. Yuuri, shocked by the abruptness of the departure, also stood to leave. He offered some limp apologies and told Tanya they’d see her back at the house as he walked away, or at least that’s what he hoped he said.

_ “ _ Yuuri Katsuki _.” _

Yuuri stopped in his tracks and spun around, shaken that Nikolay had addressed him at all. Nikolay’s face was suddenly different from before. A softness had taken over his features that Yuuri couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t exactly kind or sympathetic, but somber, as if the man mourned something.

“Take care of him.”

Yuuri gulped, not expecting Nikolay to speak to him in English. He didn’t know how to respond to such a request, especially after the cold manner with which the man had just treated his own son. Really, it was more of a directive rather than a request. For a second, it seemed like Nikolay wanted to say more, but the desire appeared to dissipate as Tanya one-sidedly argued with him, probably over how he had just addressed Victor. 

“I will,” the words escaped Yuuri’s mouth without him meaning to say anything. Nikolay simply nodded in reply, giving Yuuri leave to run after Victor.

Everything was upside down. Victor had never been one to just give up, even if the other person pushed him away. Yuuri had learned this well after months of his own stubborn avoidance of Victor when Yuuri was trapped in his own insecurities. Victor was headstrong. Impulsive. He acted without taking full account of the consequences, thinking he’d just face them as they came. But now he was running, and Yuuri was struck with the irrational fear that something terrible would happen if he didn’t catch up.

“Hey, hey!”

He found Victor standing on the steps leading out of the hospital like he was stuck. He didn’t turn around right away, though he had obviously heard Yuuri’s call. Yuuri felt helpless. He couldn’t grasp what had just happened, and he didn’t want to make Victor relive it just to translate for him. During the last skating season, Victor had spent the entire time figuring out ways to help Yuuri and guide him through his issues. What could he do for Victor? How could he pull him out of whatever was happening?

“Let’s skate!”

Victor turned around, his eyes wide.   
  
“What?”

His stunned, but somewhat excited expression gave Yuuri confidence. “Take me to one of the rinks you used to skate at. You mentioned it while we were packing, remember? I already told Tanya we’d see her later. Let’s go home, grab our gear, and drive out to one.”

Victor put a finger to his mouth, pretending to think about it. An earnest grin grew on his face.

“That sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated, as always :)
> 
> Phew. Writing from Yuuri’s perspective during a scene that’s almost entirely in Russian was super difficult. Everything about it is supposed to be uncomfortable and awkward, which ended up meaning that writing it was uncomfortable and awkward. Eek. 
> 
> Here, semolina porridge is referring to “mannaya kasha” or “manka,” basically a cream of wheat type of porridge that was served often during the Soviet period, and is still considered a good breakfast for children. Some hate it, some love it. It sounds kinda gross to me, but hey. Tradition!
> 
> In this chapter, Yuuri gave a lot more than he received, but don’t worry. He will get his just desserts in a later chapter ;)
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/)


	4. Intimate Occasions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor struggles with the idea of retirement, while Yuuri ascends new heights. They both find comfort in each other as they consider their future together.
> 
> Smut warning

Yuuri had been spoiling Victor rotten the entire trip, and he couldn’t help but bask in it.

His skating was exceptionally beautiful today. Victor’s attention was totally monopolized by the curve of Yuuri’s back as he went into the Ina Bauer, or the extension of his leg as he landed his triple axel. They couldn’t hook up [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skmMiNKBrJE) for his free skate, since the only audio system in the outdated rink was a radio hooked up to a louder speaker, but Victor could hear the sweeping orchestral notes and piano all the same. This season, Yuuri had his free skate piece commissioned once again, and he’d done it of his own volition. He’d chosen his own short program music as well, and had choreographed almost half of his routines himself. He insisted on giving Victor the credit, but Victor refused, at least for the free skate. The free skate was all Yuuri’s.

Yuuri’s theme this year was “Freedom”. They decided to keep the idea vague when describing it to the press to produce some hype, but also to keep a bit of privacy to themselves. In the end, the only important thing about the theme was that it was meaningful to Yuuri. He wanted to be free - free from his own anxieties, worries, and misgivings.

Victor also had an inkling that Yuuri wanted to be more independent. He had, after all, moved his entire life to Russia in order to be with Victor. At the beginning of Yuuri’s time in St. Petersburg, Victor had aided Yuuri often. Of course, he had been happy to do it - ecstatic even. He loved that he could give him pointers on his toe loops at the rink and help him with the cyrillic letters in the grocery store. But he knew for Yuuri it was different. Though the past season had made him much more receptive to receiving help, his sense of pride hadn’t changed. He didn’t feel he had much to prove to the world anymore, but he still had to prove to himself that he was worthy of everything he had received up to this point.

To Victor, Yuuri would be worthy regardless of what happened in competition. Still, he admired the fire of determination in his fiancé’s eyes during practice as he set out to make his mark on the ice. He more than admired it - he found it incredibly sexy.

Yuuri was reaching the end of his run through, a dramatic sequence where his final quad and spin were supposed to coincide with the piano and orchestra’s final ringing flourish. The piece this year was much more dramatic and bold than last year’s, bringing to mind striking landscapes of mountains and valleys. As Yuuri took off for the quad flip, Victor felt his heart tighten in anticipation - seeing Yuuri in the air made him want to cheer and jump in unison. Yuuri touched down on the ice when he landed, but the routine was already much more polished than when they had done the last full run through in Hasetsu. He spun as if caught up in the whirlwind of the music, bringing his arms up in a V with the final strike of notes.

“Yuuri!” Victor waved him over, a silly and happy enthusiasm taking over his arm.

Yuuri perked up from the trance of his own performance and skated over to the barrier where Victor stood.

“How was it? I know I touched down a few times, but it was the best run through I’ve had since we started, right?”

Victor nodded. “It was. We’ve got to work on your balance when you land so you don’t touch down as often, but it looks great. On that last quad, it really looked like you were flying.”

Yuuri reddened at the compliment, emphasizing the flush from the exercise. Victor felt his heart squeeze again. He swore everytime Yuuri blushed, an angel got its wings.

“How much more time do we have?”

Victor pulled his phone out from his pocket - they still had about 30 minutes. After the hospital, Victor had driven them back home in a rush while he made calls to every rink he could think of within a half hour radius in the hope he’d find some place open. When he found a rink, he booked it for themselves for three hours. It was summer, so it hadn’t been too hard to negotiate, though name-dropping himself hadn’t hurt either.

The rink they had ended up at wasn’t the rink he’d gone to most often, but it was the most significant one. It was the rink where his first skating coach had introduced him to Yakov Feltsman and changed the course of his life forever.

He recalled the day clearly. Victor was twelve and skating was all he thought about. By that point, he’d already been skating for five years.

Before he found skating, other children stayed away from him, or only played with him out of pity.

 _“There’s poor little Vitya,”_ he’d hear their parents whisper. _“Rumor has it his father hates him because his mother got sick after having him and never recovered. Then the poor woman died. What a shame.”_

When he was young, he had no idea what it meant or how to deal with it. He just couldn’t stand those looks of shallow sympathy, as if the other kids were doing him a favor just by standing next to him. No need for that kind of playmate. Better to play make believe alone instead.

But then he found skating. Through skating, Victor learned about performing. It was like make believe, but in front of an audience, and it seemed to make everyone happy. He had always been good at pretending. Doing it on the ice was even better.  
  
Later, he learned how to perform off the ice too. The more he smiled, the more people liked him.  The more people watched him skate, the more people praised him. No more looks of pity or bemoaning his pitiful fate as the cold music school owner’s son. The gnawing feeling that had been squeezing his heart faded, and sometimes completely disappeared. Skating was like magic, and he badly wanted to be a master magician.

So when Yakov asked him what he would do to become a top skater, Victor answered honestly. Anything.

The stern man went home with Victor to speak with his father and explain why it was necessary for Victor to move to St. Petersburg to train. The two spoke alone in his father’s office, leaving the young man to wait outside as the adults made decisions behind closed doors. Yakov emerged with a grave look. His father had said no.

Unacceptable.

Victor stormed into his father’s office shouting, which didn’t seem to phase his father at all. At least not at first. He told Victor he was too young to make those kinds of decisions. Skating was too risky - there was no guaranteed future. What if he got injured early? Even if he didn’t, most skaters’ competitive careers ended in their 20s or early 30s - what would his prospects look like afterwards?

Of course, none of those arguments worked on Victor. Skating had been his only reprieve for years. He would pursue it at all costs. In response to his father’s careful reasoning, Victor ran up to his room and started packing his things. His father followed him upstairs, leaving Yakov speechless in their living room. He tries to get Victor to listen, his voice getting louder and his face reddening the more Victor yelled back at him and continued throwing his things into luggage he’d found in the guest room.

For the first time, the two had an all out fight. Every mistake arose like an open wound. Every fault was thrown in the other’s face.

_“You are too impulsive and impatient! You are too young! Don’t make a stupid mistake and ruin your future!”_

_“What future? Here in Solnelchik to run the music school when you die? Why do you even care what I do when all you do is spend time at that stupid school. I hate it and I hate you!”_

He hadn’t meant to tell his father he hated him, but he was twelve and he was angry. He wanted to make his father feel all the hurt that had been building up inside of him for so long. He immediately regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth and stopped packing.

_“Papa, I-”_

His father didn’t let him take it back.

 _“Fine,”_ he said, his voice and composure already readjusted to their usual disinterest. _“Do as you want.”_

Those were the last words his father said to him before he left town.

And for a while, Victor thought he didn’t need to hear his father say anything else as long as he had the cheers from the crowds. It wasn't until he had won his third consecutive gold at Worlds that the cheers started to sound a bit hollow.

By the time he had won his fourth, the cheers hardly phased him at all.

He could feel the magic disappearing, and at the start of the following Grand Prix series, he had wondered if it was worth continuing at all. The audiences hadn't noticed yet, but they would soon. Maybe it was better not to stick around until they did.

And then Yuuri waltzed into his life. Or rather, pole-danced.

After that, Victor watched video after video of Yuuri’s competitions throughout his career and found a new way of skating. Yuuri didn't just perform and imagine feelings when he was on the ice - he felt them sincerely and expressed them like he was exposing raw pieces of himself. He made himself vulnerable in a way Victor had never done. Not publicly. Of course, as Victor later learned, that kind of honesty came with its own disadvantages. It made Yuuri prone to mistakes and falls when his emotions were negative and overpowering. If he could only use that vulnerability and honesty to his advantage, Victor knew Yuuri could become one of the greatest skaters on the ice. And so Victor clung to this new magic he had found within Yuuri and made it part of his own heart, sustaining him through his loneliness in a way that competing had never done before.

What would he have done without Yuuri?

“Victor?”

His head snapped up only to find a concerned Yuuri standing next to him already wearing his skate guards. He had completely zoned out while staring at his phone, lost in his thoughts.

“I asked if you wanted to do your free skate. I wanted to see it with the new step sequence.”

“Sure!” Victor slapped his cheeks to re-energize himself. The lethargy and nostalgia of Solnelchik had infected him once again. He needed to get it together, for Yuuri’s sake if not his own. He removed his skate guards, using Yuuri’s shoulder as a stabilizer rather than the barrier just so he could get a quick dose of his fiancé’s sweaty body.

He got on the ice and skated to the center, focusing his thoughts and energy on his free skate. He played [the music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRjllL-MP0U) in his mind, hearing the slow, quiet piano echoing in the rink as he stood still in his opening position.  As soon as the melody wandered in, his arms bloomed open above him, his legs stretching out across the ice. This performance was much more wistful and subtle than his more recent programs.

Victor’s theme this year was “Dreams” - his free skate a flowing, unraveling of his own stream-of-conscious as he thought about his wishes and desires for the future. He was at the point in the program where the music built up into a sudden wave much like his eagerness to make his hopes come true. It all led up to an early, climactic breaking point - perfect for a jump. He thought through the routine as he skated: camel spin, glide, build, prepare for the quad salchow, take off, then…

Fuck.

He had braced himself for the fall right after the take off, but he came down much harder than he had anticipated. He heard Yuuri’s shout echoing through the rink before he felt the sharp pain in his hip.

Tsk.

He propped himself on his hands, attempting to sit up as he winced and hissed. It was nothing serious, but it was definitely going to bruise. By the time he was almost on his feet again, Yuuri had skated over with an outstretched arm to help him up the rest of the way.

“That was a rough one. Are you all right?”

He shrugged as he grabbed Yuuri’s arm. “It probably looked worse than it was.”

As he got up and straightened out, he winced again, earning him another worried look from Yuuri.

“Our session’s almost over anyway,” Yuuri said, leading them over to the rink entrance. “Should we just call it a day?”

Victor agreed.

After they packed up, changed and said goodbye to the overly enthusiastic manager, they drove home and were greeted by a restless Makkachin. They had taken her out for a quick walk when they picked up their skating gear, but being alone in a building that wasn’t their apartment probably made her antsy.

“I’ll take Makka out for another walk,” Yuuri said, leashing Makkachin and leading her towards the door. “Shower and take a break - maybe get some ice for your hip? It looks like it’s probably going to bruise.”

After a hug and asking Yuuri to kiss his hip better, Victor shooed them out of the house. He needed time alone to think. He had been a total disaster this trip. And now of all times during his exhausting reckoning with his childhood, he found himself also having to reckon with another issue he’d been putting off: his retirement.

It wasn’t like Victor never fell, but he never used to fall like _that_ \- at least not before the break he had taken from competing. After his last bruising fall, he’d told himself he’d revisit the idea of retirement after the next one. That’s what he’d been telling himself for the past 50 bruising falls. Of those, Yuuri had only seen a third, Victor usually able to rely on the excitement of having Yuuri watch him skate. Now even with that, it was getting harder and harder to keep himself going.

Victor had no shortage of inspiration or mental fortitude. The issue now was his body. He’d felt aches and pains for years already, but usually the adrenaline rush of performing and competing pulled him through. He knew he had already been pushing his time limit when he turned 27, but it seemed strange that he’d actually reach his limit as soon as his enthusiasm for the sport returned.

He hated to think it, but it was starting to look like his father was right.

His words from their meeting at the hospital whispered in his ear - _“You are too old for dancing on the ice. Grow up and act your age before your body decides for you.”_

It had been the first time in years that his father openly discussed his career with him. They hadn’t discussed his skating at all since Victor had moved out of the house, his disapproval a shadow cast on every meaningless conversation they’d had afterwards. Only when his career was coming to its end did the man deem it important enough to bring up. He wasn’t sure if it was a breakthrough or a disappointment.

When Yuuri returned with a happier and worn out Makkachin, an unusual trepidation filled him. Yuuri had practically begged him to return to competition last year. How would he react if Victor told him he might _have_ to retire?

Better to discuss it after eating. Talking to Yuuri on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

Tanya had left some borscht in the fridge for them to eat chilled. She’d apparently also bought some fresh bread to accompany it. That was good. Borscht had always been Tanya’s best dish, and it’d be easier to bring up a difficult conversation when Yuuri was happy and full.

They ate and discussed Yuuri’s walk with Makkachin. Apparently someone in Solnelchik had recognized him and attempted to talk with him and get a picture. Yuuri was surprised, then realized probably the only reason they recognized him at all was because the whole town was obsessed with supporting Victor. The woman had shown him pictures on her phone of some very crowded town viewings of competitions Victor had been in.

“I guess you’re Solnelchik’s claim to fame,” Yuuri said, beaming and thoroughly pleased that he’d gotten the woman to forward the pictures to him. There were some very nice shots of Victor skating on the TV screen, after all.

Victor gulped his last bit of borscht. “Not really, though. I usually don’t mention Solnelchik in interviews, though I guess it’d be pretty easy for anyone to figure out. I just didn’t want reporters hounding my father for an exclusive or something. It’d disappoint everyone involved.”

“Right…” Yuuri lowered his spoon and stared down at his almost empty bowl with an unusual amount of concentration.

Oops.

Once again, his careless attitude about his family had worried Yuuri. What had he done to deserve such a loving, considerate man in his life?

“Let’s finish, clean up, and push those beds together,” Victor said, standing up and clearing his plate. “Sound good?”

Yuuri nodded, his mind still elsewhere. “Sure.”

They decided to move everything from Victor’s room into Yuuri’s. Makkachin was told to stay out of the way downstairs so they wouldn't trip over her. At first, Yuuri tried to convince Victor to allow him to handle it all by himself, but the mattress and bed frame were surprisingly heavy and would be difficult to get through the doorway.

“Yuuri, I bruised my hip. I’m not an invalid.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Yuuri retorted, skeptical.

The two managed the move, in spite of Victor having to take extra care to lift things slowly, and laid out the blankets once more. Victor laid down, rolling himself across both beds to appreciate the larger size.

“You want to get ready for bed already? It’s a little early,” Yuuri said, looking at his phone.

“Hm,” Victor hummed. “There’s actually something I need to talk with you about.” He rolled on to one of the beds, lay on his non-bruised side, and pat his hand on the open space to get Yuuri to lie down next to him. Without hesitation, Yuuri plopped down on his side so he could face Victor, a sweet but curious smile on his face. God, he was so adorable. That made things so much more difficult. He took one of Yuuri’s hands into his own and squeezed it.

"Yuuri... I've been falling a lot harder lately. "  
  
Yuuri scrunched his forehead, his shoulders tightening in that way they did when he expected Victor to do or say something stupid.

“What?”

"Sorry,” he said, relaxing his shoulders again. “At first I thought you were about to make a joke about falling harder for me."  
  
Damn. What a missed opportunity!  
  
"But it hasn't been that often,” Yuuri assured. “Has it?”  
  
“That's because you haven't been there for all my one-on-one sessions with Yakov. When you're around the rink I tend to perform better and push myself harder. But when you're not…”  
  
Yuuri bit his lip, the worry obvious in his eyes. “It’s been that bad?” he said, his voice getting quieter.

“I don't think I would've even medalled at Worlds this year if you weren't there. I was lucky to get bronze.”

Yuuri shook his head, averting his eyes from Victor’s. “But you’re still just making your come back. It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t...if you hadn’t taken a break to coach me.”

Victor squeezed his fiancé’s hand tighter with one hand and used the other to take him by the chin to meet his eyes once more. “Yuuri. That’s not it. You and everyone else always seem to forget that I’m the oldest skater competing on the international stage at the moment. I hate to prove Yurio right, but I’m really becoming an old geezer as far as competitive skating is concerned. It’s one thing if I just don’t medal anymore, but I don’t really want to destroy my body in the process.”

Yuuri was slow to respond, apparently still needing time to process. He bit his lower lip and chewed, thinking. Feeling. Worrying. Victor held his breath in wait. Then finally, he asked, “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  
Victor exhaled softly. “I was ignoring it before because I have all this new inspiration now. Competing is fun again. But...I might be at my limit. I think I might retire soon.”

There it was. He’d said it out loud. He had the feeling that the words, no matter how quietly he’d spoken them, were deafening to them both. And now he had to wait again - wait to see how Yuuri would react. Victor had forgotten to prepare in case Yuuri cried, and he still hadn’t figured out a good way to deal with that. So much for handling things with grace.

Thankfully, Yuuri did not cry. Instead, he scooted closer until their bodies were flush against each other, burying his head right underneath Victor’s chin. He hadn’t let go of Victor’s hand, holding it tightly between them like it were some precious object to protect.

“When?” he whispered, his body tensing up once again.

  
“I’m not sure yet,” And really, Victor wasn’t. He used his open hand to card his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “I haven’t talked about it with Yakov, though maybe he already has an idea. He's been lecturing me less about the falls and more about taking care of myself lately. Anyway, I wanted to talk with you first. I’ll make a final decision after the Grand Prix is over.”

Yuuri nodded deliberately into Victor’s neck. Victor waited to feel hot tears stain his skin or drip down to his shirt, but none came. Instead, Yuuri pulled away to look up at Victor, his eyes wide with determination and sincerity.

“Thanks...for telling me. And making me a part of it. I know it’s a hard thing to do. So thank you.”

Relief washed over Victor, his heart becoming lighter the more he saw the appreciation in his fiancé’s eyes. “Of course,” he said, pulling Yuuri in close again and brushing a light kiss on his lips. “We’re partners, right?”

Yuuri blushed and nodded, a small grin blooming on his face. The blush alone would have been enough to get Victor going, but that beautiful, quiet little smile…

That was fatal.

He pulled Yuuri in for another kiss, deeper and more earnest than before. He trailed kisses along Yuuri’s cheek, making his way to his ear and gently nibbling at the lobe.

“Victor…” Yuuri warned, a bit breathless but cautionary all the same. “Now?”

“Yuuri, I may be cruisin’ for a bruisin’,” he said, testing another American phrase he had read somewhere. “But-”

“You’re not just cruising,” Yuuri said, cutting him off. He tugged the waistband of Victor’s pants down to reveal a fist-sized blue-ish, purple-ish blob taking over his hip. “You already have a bruise. It can’t be good that it’s already this blue.”

Victor sighed as he raised the back of his hand to his forehead, his penchant for drama overtaking him. “Oh my Yuuri - now that I am marked, could it be that you don’t want me anymore? Am I ruined in your eyes?”

Yuuri’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at Victor’s antics. Nonetheless, he reassured Victor anyway. “Are you kidding? Of course I want you. I _always_ want you.”

“Always?” Victor's eyes gleamed as he straightened out and grabbed Yuuri’s sides with eagerness.

Yuuri’s body stiffened, realizing his mistake. His face deflated as he muttered his embarrassed confirmation.

Victor’s hand slid up and down the upright side of Yuuri’s waist, appreciating what curves he could trace. He found himself already missing Yuuri’s off-season body. He now fully understood why that bit of extra tummy that used to spill over his waistband was called a “love handle.” Victor wanted to love and caress that bit of extra Yuuri all night long.

“You know, dear,” Victor said quietly, stopping his hand on Yuuri’s hips. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Yuuri groaned in frustration. “That’s the problem. I _do_ want to. But I also want you to take it easy.”

“Then we’ll both have to be gentle,” Victor winked, giving Yuuri’s hip a little squeeze. He shivered a little in response, a light shade of pink painting his cheeks.

“Fine,” Yuuri said, half-heartedly attempting to collect himself. “But I’m taking the lead and you’re staying down. We can’t have the living legend’s career end because of strenuous sex with his fiancé. I’d die of embarrassment.”

Victor could tell Yuuri was only half-joking.

“If my career as a competitive skater came to an end between your thighs, I’d happily resign myself to such a fate.”

Victor was also only half-joking.

Yuuri bent over, his lips hovering just over Victor’s with a whisper. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Victor reached his arms around his lover’s neck and closed the gap so that their lips locked. He moaned a little in surprise when Yuuri deepened the kiss while flipping Victor onto his back so he could straddle him properly. His legs were bent to leave a careful distance between himself and his hip to avoid putting weight on it. His tongue met Victor’s eagerly, his saliva syrupy in Victor’s mouth. Fuck. Yuuri taking charge was one of the most addictive drugs he could think of, right along with Yuuri skating, Yuuri blushing, Yuuri kissing, Yuuri dancing...really Yuuri doing anything.

He copied Victor’s kiss from earlier, working across his cheek to his ear, nibbling on the curve before whispering, “I’m going to ride you into tomorrow. Say mercy if it’s too much.”

The warm breath against Victor’s ear made him shiver. He thanked the heavens for the magic that was whatever happened to Yuuri when his switch flipped. Of course, he loved his sweet, thoughtful and nervous fiancé with all his heart, but the overpowering, assertive Eros of Yuuri Katsuki was a pleasure that he would give up his career for. Yuuri as a whole was worth selling his soul for.

Full of overwhelming love and excitement, Victor scooted back against the headboard of the bed and sat up, breaking Yuuri’s attention to his ear so Victor could crane his neck and pay his own attention to his favorite spot: the crook of Yuuri’s neck. At first he bit down gently, earning a small thrust from Yuuri’s lower body against his own. The weight spread out and stung his hip a bit, but he couldn’t help himself. He lay down a quick gentle kiss and bit down harder.

Yuuri called out, his hips pushing further into Victor so that they could both feel the other’s arousal through their lounge pants. As he continued kissing up and down Yuuri’s neck, his hands found Yuuri’s pert, pink nipples. His thumb traced light circles around the right one, making it harder. He pinched, making Yuuri cry out.The summer heat that had seeped into the house made each of their touchpoints feel like a slow burn cooled quickly by the sweat streaming down both their bodies. It was maddening and mesmerizing all at once.

“Let me...go get…” Yuuri tried to say between Victor’s kisses, his glasses askew on his nose.

“You’re not depriving me of the pleasure of this.” Victor stopped kissing and instead, playfully started to knead his hands into Yuuri’s ass, forcing sighs from his lips. “I’ll go get it.”

“I can...ugh...do it...myself,” he said, struggling with the whole notion of language.

“Mmmm...but I love doing it. Also, no hip movement necessary. At least not on my part.”

Yuuri relented, allowing Victor to slide out from beneath him and rush to their bags. He unzipped the side pocket of Yuuri’s roller and pulled out the familiar bottle and a condom. By the time he returned to the bed, Yuuri had already removed his shirt, pants, and glasses. He left on his briefs, knowing Victor liked to pull them down himself. Victor mounted the bed where Yuuri’s feet lay and sat on his knees so he could push up Yuuri’s legs. He set the bottle and condom aside and held tight to Yuuri’s ankles, leaning his chin on top of Yuuri’s bent knees.

“Hello, darling,” he said, smirking at the sight of Yuuri’s pink, somewhat sweaty face. He proceeded to kiss Yuuri’s knees, then pulled his legs apart so he could make his way down Yuuri’s glorious thighs. He held up the outer thigh with his hand and squeezed it as he made a path of little bites and kisses along the inner thigh, each one getting Yuuri more and more worked up.

“Vitya, please,” Yuuri begged, the vowels stretched out into heavy pleads.

When he reached the edge of the briefs with his mouth, he jumped up to the waistband and attempted to pull them down with his teeth. He struggled, the summer sweat making it more difficult to peel the cloth off. He kept trying to pull down, but couldn't get the rest of the waistband to follow, even with Yuuri raising his hips up.

Exasperated but amused, Yuuri started laughing. “Are you serious right now?”

Victor released the waistband from his mouth, causing it to snap against Yuuri's skin and make him yelp.

“Yuuri,” he whined. “Would you please just let me seduce my hot fiancé?”

Yuuri tried to reduce his laughter to a giggle as he replied, “Would you please just remove my underwear like a normal p-whoa!” Victor had quickly grabbed the briefs from both sides and taken them off in a dramatic swoop with Yuuri's legs in the air.

Yuuri's legs bounced back down on the bed as Victor tossed the underwear aside. He grabbed the bottle again as Yuuri hitched his legs up close to his abs and gave Victor the full view.

Messy dark hair. Chocolate brown eyes. Slightly tanned skin tinted red from his aroused flush. The faint outline of abs leading down to his pink, hardened cock.

Beautiful.

Just. Beautiful.

He squeezed some of the liquid onto his fingers. It had become a bit warm from the heat in the house, but maybe that would be more arousing anyway. He took a single finger and teased it around the rim. Yuuri sighed a little, his cock twitching ever so slightly in response. He added more lube directly on the target, tracing a small circle to work the lube in little by little.

The little sighs turned into little moans, pleasured but comfortable.

He finally inserted a digit, watching Yuuri carefully for the response. It felt like his finger was being sucked in, Yuuri's entire body eager and begging for more. The thought of it made Victor harden, the desire pooling in his stomach as he did his best to focus on opening Yuuri. He slowly worked in a second finger, circling, going in and out, until finally he bent his fingers up just so.

“Vitya!” Yuuri cried out. God. Was there anything sexier than Yuuri crying out his name like that, his voice breaking a little as if there was not enough air.

Victor continued alternating between teasing Yuuri's prostate and circling gently with three fingers around the rim. The more he worked, the more flushed and breathless Yuuri became, precum beading off the tip of his cock.

“It's...I…” Words seemed to escape Yuuri again.

“What is it, darling?” Victor teased.

“I need you,” he panted out.

As soon as Victor removed his fingers Yuuri hooked his leg around Victor's waist and flipped them over, somehow managing to place himself on top gently. Yuuri worked quickly, removing Victor's pants and underwear, and ordering Victor to remove his own shirt. How did Yuuri make efficiency so erotic?

When the clothes were out of the way, Yuuri marveled a little at Victor's erection as he tore open the condom packet and slid it with a practiced ease onto Victor's cock. He poured lube into his hand and took it gently at first, pumping Victor slowly to spread the lube. For Victor it was sweet agony. The warmth and wetness on Yuuri's hand as he lightly squeezed extracted a deep, throaty moan from Victor. He felt his abdomen tighten and relax - he couldn't help but buck his hips up a little.

“Ah ah ah, nope,” Yuuri said quietly as he placed his other had on Victor's non-bruised side. ‘Like I said, you're staying down and watching while I ride you senseless. Sound good?”

Victor nodded quickly, too turned on for words.

“Good boy,” Yuuri said, that unbelievably Eros smirk painting his lips.

He positioned himself over Victor and came down slowly. They both inhaled sharply at the sudden tightness. Yuuri moved further down, little by little, until he made it to the bottom of the shaft. They took time to appreciate the fullness for a bit, Victor admiring his lover's wistful, but erotic expression. Yuuri’s mouth fell open as he breathed through the feeling of full penetration, little groans escaping his throat.

And then he started to move.

And Victor wondered if this was what heaven was like.

The starting pace was slow and languid. Victor’s eyes wandered from Yuuri's bobbing cock, up his abs to his soft looking lips. As if he knew what Victor was thinking, Yuuri bent down and started to kiss him. Victor took Yuuri's hips into his hands as they continued working up and down on his ever-hardening cock.

The kiss was wet and sloppy, both of their moans stifled by the other's tongue. Yuuri’s pace quickened, making Victor bite down on Yuuri's lower lip. A desperate, breathy moan escaped his mouth. Victor wanted more.

“Yuuri,” he managed, also needy and breathless. “There are no neighbors here. Let me hear you, please.”

At that, the volume of Yuuri's moans increased. He worked even faster, more and more precum beading out.

The sounds of Yuuri's passionate yells filled Victor's ears, making them tingle and warm. Yuuri’s moans, his flushed face, his ruined hair,  his bobbing cock - it was all too erotic. With that and the way Yuuri clenched around him, he could feel himself reaching the edge.

He took Yuuri into his hand and started to work it up and down.

“Yuuri, you feel so good.”

Yuuri moaned at the praise.

“You're so tight for me. God, you're so perfect. I love it.”

His movements became more wild as Victor's hand moved faster, his own cock getting desperate and pleading for release.

Yuuri came first, spilling streams onto both of their stomachs. The sight of Yuuri coming brought Victor closer and teetering on the edge. A few more bucks from Yuuri pushed him over. He gripped on to Yuuri's hips, his knuckles white from the tightness.

They both panted heavily, spent and blissed out. Yuuri had collapsed on top of Victor. As he softened, Victor slipped out of Yuuri, earning him a somewhat forlorn sigh. They were both a mess of sweat and come, Victor humming as Yuuri leaned his head into the crook of his neck.

“Is your hip ok?” Yuuri said, his voice a bit hoarse.

He hadn’t escaped the encounter without feeling a sting here or there, but Yuuri was worrying too much. He kissed the top of Yuuri’s head and chuckled.

“I think I’ll have to retire right away. Get my phone so I can call Yakov.”

Yuuri groaned and got up, making Victor pout at the loss of contact. The pout quickly disappeared when he waited for Victor at the door and beckoned him to join him in the shower.

After they were clean and dry, Victor took Makkachin out for a final outing before bed. Even with the beds combined, it wasn’t large enough for the two of them and Makkachin to sleep in, so Victor found extra blankets and sheets to make an impromptu bed for her.

They settled in beneath the covers, Victor’s heart full and cozy and happy. Yuuri checked his phone quickly before plugging it in and placing it on the dresser next to Victor’s. He lay down on his side and flashed Victor a shy smile.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Victor frowned, the coziness in his heart slowly seeping out.

“I’m going to the hospital alone tomorrow.”

He had thought about it and realized he couldn’t drive out all the way to Solnelchik and not speak with his father one on one even once, even if there wasn’t much to say. Before he could explain, Yuuri piped up.

“I thought you might.”

As usual when it came to the family stuff, Yuuri knew much better.

The next day, they took their run with Makkachin and returned to find Tanya with a box of cereal in hand. They had breakfast and chatted before driving out, Tanya going to work and Victor to drop Yuuri off at the same rink again, having booked him a four-hour session this time.

“Don’t push yourself too hard today, especially since yesterday you were pretty lively with your hips and-”

“Yes, yes, yes, ok, I know,” Yuuri said, getting out of the car with a red face.

“Tanya said she might drop by after her first house cleaning to see you skate. I’ll probably be back in two hours or so,” Victor said from the open car window.

“Take your time.” Yuuri leaned down to give Victor a quick goodbye peck. “I’ll be here.”

Victor watched Yuuri walk into the rink, not wanting to drive away at all. He could’ve sworn Yuuri was swaying his hips in that particularly alluring way on purpose. Yuuri stopped at the door and turned around to wave him away, earning a reluctant groan from Victor as he turned his key in the ignition. The drive to the hospital went by far too quickly. He was through the doors and standing at the greeting desk before he knew it.

_“I’d like to speak to Dr. Kuznetsov, please. Do you know where he is?”_

The same bored secretary from yesterday indicated that he was in one of the offices in the west wing of the building. In spite of the noisy whirrings of his heart and mind, his feet managed to carry him to the office and his hand managed to knock on the door. Someone within cleared their throat - he wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be the sign that he could come in or what, but he opened the door anyway.

The office was filled with multiple desks, several doctors and nurses digging through file cabinets. A few pushed past Victor in a hurry without a word. Sitting at a desk in the corner was a small, skinny man with round, thick glasses, pouring over a clipboard. As Victor approached him, he looked up from his work and recognized Victor right away.

_“Victor Nikolayevich, how are you?”_

_“Grisha, Vitya is fine.”_

The man shrugged a little, uncomfortable at the thought. Grigory apparently hadn’t changed. He had been one of the few children at school not to pity or praise him, but only because the boy was more interested in studying than his fellow students. Victor had always wondered if his father would have preferred a more serious child like Grigory to be his son.

 _“I assume you’d like to discuss your father’s condition,”_ he said, putting his clipboard down to give Victor his full attention.  
  
_“Yes. He apparently won’t talk about it with anyone, but since I’m his son-”_

 _“You have a right to know.”_ Grigory walked over to a file cabinet in the corner behind his desk, opened one of the drawers, and quickly pulled out a file. He perused it for three seconds before closing it and replacing it. He took his seat back at his desk and crossed his fingers, apparently now prepared for whatever he needed to say. _“Your father hasn’t given me any explicit directions, so I’m more or less at liberty to tell you everything you need to know.”_

Victor simply nodded.

_“Your father has a form of chronic leukemia, though currently it’s in remission.”_

The doctor had both paralyzed Victor’s heart and revived it with a single sentence. Victor didn’t know the details about leukemia, but he knew it was a cancer. Probably fatal, but remission meant his father was hanging on.

 _“If it’s in remission, that means he’s getting better, right?”_ Victor attempted a weak, optimistic smile. Grigory did not respond in kind.

He proceeded to explain that they had been aware of it at its early stages. They admitted his father to the hospital once it reached later stages and found it necessary to initiate treatment to improve quality of life. They were able to get it into complete remission, but the type of leukemia his father had had a high likelihood of recurring.

_“This form of leukemia is incurable. This remission will extend his lifespan, however, it easily could come back within the next 2 years. We’re sending him home soon, but we'll be monitoring his condition. There’s strong evidence that this particular type of leukemia is hereditary. I wouldn’t say the chances are high, but you should be aware that you are at risk. It wouldn’t present itself until you’re older, so continue monitoring your health.”_

Victor didn’t react. The quick, efficient way it had all been explained to him hadn’t helped at all. The words sank in slowly, dripping into his consciousness and creating little ripples of thought.

_My father will die._

_Maybe I will die the same way._

_My father will die._

_What if I die and leave Yuuri alone?_

_I can’t leave Yuuri alone._

_What if Yuuri dies first?_

_What if I’m left alone?_

_My father will die._

Death seemed both strange and familiar at once. His own mother had died when he was young. He knew that everyone must die some day. But when he was confronted with the cold hard diagnosis and statistics of mortality, it still came as a shock.

_“Have you already been to see your father today?”_

Distracted from his reverie, Victor merely shook his head.

_“He has a slight fever at the moment. Nothing serious, but he might be a little dazed or tired. I suggest not visiting for too long.”_

Victor nodded. Grigory looked back at his clipboard. Apparently the meeting was over.

In a daze, he left the office. Knowing what he knew now, had anything really changed? For the past week, his father’s potential death had hung around them as a vague idea. And now that it was a tangible possibility, it shouldn’t have changed anything. He’d said it before. His father hadn’t really been in his life for years. What could they fix now?

As he made his way into his father’s shared hospital room once again, he walked past the beds of his father’s roommates, one filled and two empty. Empty because they had gotten better or because they had gotten worse? When he made it to the foot of his father’s bed, he found the man lying down.

This time, Victor didn’t bother with a greeting. He pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. His father cleared his throat, acknowledging him. Victor nodded back. They were otherwise silent.

He took the time to observe his father - to really look at him. It seemed like he had somehow shrunk from yesterday, his body wrapped tight beneath the covers, his breathing audible and his skin flushed from the fever. Since Victor had sat down, the man’s eyes hadn’t looked over at him. Instead they were wide open and directed at the ceiling. He seemed so small. So fragile. Victor was afraid if he touched him he would break. Why had he come here again? Did he even have anything to say?

_“So I’m...yesterday I told Yuuri I’m thinking about retiring.”_

He’d said something in spite of himself. But rather than espousing another lecture, rather than ignoring him or brushing him off, his father simply nodded.

Victor felt he had no choice but to continue. He found himself babbling on just like he had as a child when his father used to ask him questions about school and homework.

He talked about his recent falls. The aches he was starting to get in his joints. The frustration he felt with his body for starting to fight him just when his heart had found joy in competing again. How nervous he had been to tell Yuuri because Yuuri’s deepest wish had been to continue competing with him on the ice. How Yuuri had just accepted it and thanked Victor for making him part of it. How he’d make a final decision in December, maybe make it a combined birthday-Christmas announcement to catch people by surprise and make it more dramatic. How glad he was that Yuuri was going to be with him regardless. How lovely and amazing Yuuri was, and how lucky he felt to be Yuuri’s coach. How-

_“Vitya.”_

The interjection startled Victor. The whole time, his father had been continuing to just nod. Just to acknowledge that he was listening. It wasn’t often that he interrupted.

_“Yes?”_

It took a long time for his father to continue. He kept his eyes to the ceiling, and for a moment, Victor thought he had forgotten what he wanted to say. And then his father said the most surprising thing Victor had ever heard from him in his life.

_“Get properly married.”_

The words came out quiet. Neutral, as usual. But unmistakably serious. A directive.

_“Wh-”_

_“In a country where it’s legal,”_ he said, surprising Victor even more. _“If you decide to wait for them to legalize it here, you’ll be as old as I am. Maybe some place that has good relations with Japan. The Japanese are more efficient. Maybe they will change things sooner. Then if the laws change, you can have it recognized right away.”_

Victor almost had to laugh. It was almost too absurd. _“If Japan or Russia legalize gay marriage, we would probably just get married again.”_

_“This is excessive. Do not tempt fate. Just do it properly.”_

He suppressed another laugh. _“All right, Papa. I will.”_

Both he and his father started. Victor hadn't used the word 'Papa' in well over a decade. At this point it was almost embarrassing.

_“Vitya...”_

Victor flinched. His father had finally stopped staring at the ceiling and reached for his hand. He was slow to accept it, the action being completely foreign and strange coming from the man. But he took it. It felt cold and clammy in his own, its grip weak.

_“You're not needed here. Don’t come back to Solnelchik. Leave.”_

Another directive. Still serious, but said with an odd gentleness Victor had never seen before. Not waiting for Victor to respond, his father released his hand and returned to his previous position, lying on the bed and facing up. Apparently this meeting was also done, with Victor feeling more confused and conflicted than he had when he arrived. Was this his father's way of being supportive after all these years? He wanted to give his blessing and then never see Victor again? It was more than he had ever gotten from the man, but was this all he could hope for?

His father's eyes looked intently at the ceiling again, as if he were watching a film. Victor wondered what his father was thinking. He wondered if he’d ever know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Constructive criticism will be happily read :)
> 
> Yuuri’s skates (at least instrumentation and tone-wise) were inspired by Yuzuru Hanyu’s 2016-2017 program (namely, “Let’s go Crazy” by Prince and “Asian Dream Song” by Joe Hisaishi) - check out Hanyu’s rendition if you want to see beauty and adorableness in one package.
> 
> Victor’s free skate music is Reverie by Debussy. The link out used to go to this lovely, short, animated Korean film that I don't even remember the name of, and can't find anymore because the entire channel is gone. What a shame! Oh well - there are many recordings of it out there, so I just replaced it with the easiest one.
> 
> It’s lovely and definitely fits the tone of what Victor is shooting for here: a beautiful future in spite of a tragic past or reality.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/)


	5. A Long Brewing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story about Victor’s backstory includes his father’s backstory. 
> 
> Later on, Yuuri gets an unexpected phone call.

**_Late 1980s Solnelchik - January_ **

The year Kolya Nikiforov’s father dies is also the year he meets his wife.

The entire town comes to the funeral. The loud weeping and wailing from all corners of the funeral hall ring in Kolya’s ears, irritating him. At some point, he catches a couple of older women staring at him, almost glaring. He knows precisely why. He hasn’t shed a tear the entire day. His body is hunched over and he is wearing the proper mourning attire, but nothing about his expression or face seems to suggest that he is sad. He can understand their admonishment. How can a good son, no matter how old, not cry even just a little at his own father’s funeral? The only answer they seem to find is that Kolya isn’t much of a son.

In reality Kolya is devastated.

His father is...was a huge, boisterous man, larger than life. Only the size of his heart matched the size of his belly. Everyone loved the man, and he loved everyone. He also loved to drink. Perhaps a little too much. His years as a musician bred within him an irresistible desire to celebrate everything with as much music and mirth as possible, mirth usually meaning a bottle or three or five of vodka to share with as many friends as he could find.

He hadn’t always been fat. As a young man he left town and found himself in Moscow. He later became the somewhat famous (or infamous, depending on who one asked), handsome concertmaster of a small, but successful orchestra. When he returned home in the 60s, he was backed by patrons who had party connections. Those connections helped him to win back the school his own father, Kolya’s grandfather, had lost to the State in the 20s. 

According to the now legendary story told around the town, he had burst into the music school’s State-run administrative office with a violin in hand, playing the third movement of Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto in D with such peasant fervor that the brow-beaten, State-appointed school officials had to listen to Anton’s plea for a place on the school’s organization committee. In reality, the head of the school had “fallen out of favor,” allowing the Party to place the school into the hands of the “patriotic” violinist. And so, the custodianship of the People’s Institution of Music was given back to the family that had owned it decades before the communist party had even been a twinkle in Lenin’s eye.

On Anton Nikiforov’s headstone, bold words have been engraved, “Anton Nikolayevich Nikiforov - A great musical man who led a great musical life.”

Kolya imagines his own headstone will read something like, “Nikolay Antonevich Nikiforov - A quiet little man who led a quiet little life.”

Kolya is neither a musician nor a leader. He is an accountant, much to his father’s horror. He has returned to Solnelchik from Moscow and has moved back into his family home indefinitely. His mother is distraught and things need to be put in order - who better than an accountant?

At the end of the funeral, some Party member makes a to-do about handing over the deed of the school to Kolya, offering the family not just custodianship but total ownership of the school in honor of Anton Nikolayevich Nikiforov’s contributions to the town’s cultural heritage. Kolya accepts not thinking much of it. He believes he can hire out another administrator and exist passively as an owner on the sidelines.

When Kolya looks at the financial records of the school he is horrified.

His father did a terrible job at managing the budget they received from the State. He always wondered how Anton managed to put on the elaborate concerts the town so enjoyed and invite the famous musicians from across the country. The answer is here. He overspent. A lot. Whatever money he wanted to spend that he couldn’t pull from the budget, he pulled from his own funds instead. It explains so much.

No wonder the Party members were happy to rid themselves of the school. It is a pit. A pit that has just hired more teachers than it can pay for.

His mother is practically catatonic, and there are no other relatives to turn to. He longs to return to his life of independence in Moscow, even if he was alone most of the time. But instead he must stay. He must be the dutiful son. He must revive the school his family has gripped on to for so long.

So he becomes the most hated man in Solnelchik and fires not only the teachers who were just hired, but also ten more. He reorganizes music classes so that students are taught in pairs and rents out some of the music rooms for events. A few rooms he even rents out as short-term apartments. He creates a payment plan to all the institutions to which they owe money, and stops having funds pulled from the Nikiforov family’s personal account.

The leftover teachers are livid, but they all need the job and they don’t say much. At least not to Kolya’s face. He dedicates himself to the school and the care of his mother.

It goes on like this for weeks.

They can barely manage the number of students, but at least Kolya has balanced the books. Now the school staff can start to grow again. He advertises a few teaching positions in a few music magazines that are printed in the area and sends one or two notices to Moscow through old contacts. He receives a small handful of applications - he asks them all to come in for evaluation.

His life then changes forever.

When Natalya Andreyvna Rostova comes into Kolya’s office for the first time, it is like spring has come early. She is blonde, her eyes an unreal shade of blue. She walks like a dancer, her long hair cascading behind her as she enters a room. She wears the typical, straight-cut grey dress with a matching grey jacket top that he’s seen hundreds of women wear, but on her it’s somehow...different. She makes the shapeless clothing take form and fills out the hips and bust with curves that are both voluptuous and gentle at the same time. Her entire presence is bold and excited, but when she addresses Kolya, her voice is light and pleasant.

This is the closest to love at first sight Kolya has ever experienced. And he is immediately ashamed. 

She is there for an interview as a voice and piano teacher. He is her employer-to-be. Not to mention the fact that he is 36 and she is 24. Some people don’t mind these things, but Kolya does. 

So although she is charming beyond belief and by far the most talented candidate he's spoken to that day, he keeps his head down and says he will let her know about the position within a few days. He hopes the next candidate is a musical genius or else he will have to hire the most enchanting person he’s ever met in his life and will never be able to talk to her without sounding like a fool.

“I should be fair and mention that I only wish to work for the rest of this semester.”

Lord, her speaking voice is like an angel’s. How is it possible that she sounds like this when discussing something so prosaic?

Apparently before she applied for the position, she also auditioned for a placement as a student at a music conservatory in St. Petersburg. The teachers she met were very strict and told her she was too old. She believed she wouldn’t get it. She received a letter of acceptance before she left for Solnelchik and didn’t have time to call in advance. Would that be all right?

Just for a semester? 

Kolya could manage being a fool for a semester.

He jumps the gun and extends her an offer then and there.

For a few weeks things are fine. Aside from staff meetings and the occasional staff evaluation, he does not have to interact with her too much. In general, he does his best to avoid people. Kolya tends to say things that make people...uncomfortable. He has a tendency towards blunt honesty and has no idea how to wrap his opinions into pretty words. His resting face spells monotony and his voice barely modulates. All-in-all, people find him off-putting. He learned early on it is best not to say anything at all - just nod and listen.

His plans of avoiding Natalya Andreyvna go awry on a Friday evening.

As usual, Kolya waits until most of the teachers have gone home to sneak into one of the practice rooms and fiddle around on the piano. He never learned as a child, and decides it is ridiculous that the music school owner doesn’t even play an instrument. He has been teaching himself the basics for months so that he has some idea of what the teachers and students are talking about. At home, he listens to as many recordings of the classics as possible. All of the musical education he avoided as a child, he has to work extra hard to absorb now.

He regrets rejecting his father’s musical teachings now more than ever.

He is pulled from his meditation by a knock on the door. Startled, he tells the person to come in right away without thinking. In walks Natalya Andreyvna. Kolya feels his fingers go numb as they hold on tightly to the practice book he’s been using. She smiles, closes the door behind her, and gracefully walks towards him.

“I’ve noticed you do this quite often, Nikolay Antonevich. When you’re not practicing, you’re doing paperwork. Do you ever leave this building?”

He starts. She’s been paying him that much attention? He inwardly shakes his head at himself, embarrassed that for an instant, he imagined her interest in him. She is merely astute, is all. Observant. Good qualities for a teacher. 

“Sometimes. To sleep.”

She finds this hilarious. He’s just being honest.

“Have you ever thought to ask one of the teachers here for help? I think it’s much easier to learn when you have a guide.”

He has thought about it. Though he’s sure he could get someone to agree to it, he doesn’t think anyone would do it willingly. He is, after all, the hated employer who fired their beloved colleagues not months ago. She seems to notice his hesitation and grins even more broadly.

“Hmmm...yes, they don’t seem to like you very much here, do they?”

“I…” he’s surprised by her frankness, but appreciates it. “No. Not very much. It’s all right. I’m fine alone, at least for the basics.”

She hovers over him with a finger to her lips, as if she is contemplating something. Her head tilts to the side so she can get a better look at the practice book he’s holding.

“Well first thing’s first,” she says, taking the book from his hands. “We’re getting rid of this book. It’s awful. I’ll go get the book I use for my students instead.”

She runs off and returns quickly with a different practice book Kolya hasn’t seen before. He makes a mental note to have an evaluation meeting with the piano teachers to discuss ordering new teaching materials once they have the budget for it.

So begin his evening practice sessions with Natalya Andreyvna...or Natasha, since she begs him for informality. She stays after work on Wednesdays and Fridays to work with Kolya. For a long time, he protests and tells her to stop. He cannot pay her for the extra time and he’s sure she has better things to do. To this she just giggles.

“What could be better for a teacher than to teach?”

He cannot argue with her logic. 

As the days go on and the weather gets warmer, Kolya also finds himself warming to Natasha. He finds himself talking more, expressing opinions with her that he’d normally keep to himself. She takes his frank opinions well and often shoots back with her own sharp observations. Her honesty is different from his - more playful and endearing. This makes her well-liked by her fellow teachers, students, and anyone else she meets. He wishes he could be more like her.

“You are so dedicated!” she observes one day as they finish up for the night and Kolya gathers up the sheets of music. “You're also a little obsessive. Like…like an artist!”

Like an artist? Kolya has never been called that before. She notes his confusion and laughs more.

“I mean you are passionate about whatever you work on. If you do something, regardless of what it is, you give your all. It is both frightening and admirable.” 

“I hope I am not.”

“Not what?”

“Frightening.”

Kolya doesn’t look up from his papers. Natasha blinks twice, then realizes he is joking. The laughs that peel out of her this time are more akin to a donkey bray than a talented soprano. 

And that makes her all the more lovely.

“But I am being earnest,” she continues. “Any man or woman would be lucky to have you in their life.”

Kolya shrugs, busying himself with one of the piano scores that’s falling out of his hands.

“Is there?”

He finally looks up. “Hm?”

“A lucky man or woman in your life?”

Kolya's mind has to go through several somersaults to understand what she means. At first he's not sure if he should be flattered or offended. Does she think he's interested in men?

“I...well there's no one,” he clarifies quietly. “Woman or otherwise. Certainly not a man. It wouldn’t even be legal.”

Natasha's grin becomes more mischievous. “As a musician, I have seen many things that wouldn't be strictly legal. Including people loving someone the Party says they shouldn't. It’s silly to stop just because some stuffy man changed his mind about what should be legal and illegal. Us musicians have passionate hearts, you see. You can't tie down a passionate heart. Much like artists.” 

Kolya feels his face get hot. Is this flirting, or is this Natasha? No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be flirting. He must be delusional. Even if it is flirting, what would he do? He is her employer. He is too old for her. She is just having fun, and then she will leave Solnelchik and forget about Kolya forever. He must be careful to remember that.

Of course, things don't go as planned.

The first time Kolya isn’t careful is on a Sunday in early April in one of the practice rooms. He is struggling with minor scales once again when Natasha comes in. They didn't have a scheduled session together, so he is surprised to see her. She just smiles and tells him to continue.

“I don't want to disrupt the artist at work,” she teases.

He nods and continues his battle with scales. Then something rather peculiar happens. Rather than pulling up a chair to the side, or standing to lean on the piano as he plays like she usually does, she sits right next to Kolya on the piano bench. 

“Kolya,” she playfully scolds. “We've discussed this. You need to keep your fingers a bit more curved or else you won't have the flexibility you'll need to move faster.” 

She takes one of his hands and lifts it up so that his fingers are no longer flat on the keys.

He nods and follows her direction, reddening at her touch and the sound of her voice saying ‘Kolya’. He is still not accustomed to it. He doesn't think he'll ever be.

After an hour or so, he decides to call it a day. Natasha has been far more...touchy...than usual, and he’s reaching his blush limit. Is he this hot because of her or because it’s spring?

As he covers the piano keys and gathers up the practice books on the ledge, he notices Natasha staring at his face. He returns her gaze, his heart speeding up just from looking her in the eye. Her eyes have a habit of drawing him in, and each time, he feels like he could drown. Such a death would not be so terrible.

“Kolya...has anyone ever told you that you have a handsome jawline?”

He gulps. His throat feels constricted. Is this...another joke about art?

She reaches her hand over to trace his jaw with her fingers, from just beneath his ear to his chin.

“If you would only smile more, you’d have a very handsome face,” she whispers. “Especially when you blush.”

At this point, he does not have the wherewithal to push her hand away like he should have. She takes it further and angles his chin in the perfect position for a kiss. Which she does. Kolya practically loses his mind when he kisses her back and takes her into his arms.

Much to his surprise, jubilation and embarrassment, they make love on a desk in the practice room.

The second time Kolya isn’t careful is during a picnic by the lake. It’s the first day of the season that it’s warm enough to swim, and it’s important to appreciate such days. He invites her out as a thank you for helping him and...well...he decides not to think too much about his other intentions. They end up finding a quiet, remote spot where their lovemaking is hidden under the cover of trees and bushes.

He soon loses count of the times he should have been careful.

Each time, Kolya can never understand why she comes to him at all. Or why she gently takes him by the hand to teach him piano, why she laughs when he complains or remarks on the technicalities of certain songs, and why she sings for him when he has a terrible day.

It is like living in an incredible dream, and every day Kolya dreads the day he must wake up.

The dream ends when the semester is over and she leaves to go to St. Petersburg. She promises to call when she arrives, and write when she has time, but Kolya silently tells himself he won't hold her to that promise.

But she does call. And she does write. 

They have weekly phone calls in which they discuss everything and nothing - how rude but capable her voice teacher is, how one of the students at the music school painted a curse word on one of the pianos, how Kolya’s mother has started leaving the house on her own again.

But in late June she stops calling. For weeks, silence. She has usually been the one to call first, and for fear of rejection, Kolya does not call her. In late July he receives a call from the train station near Solnelchik - it’s Natasha. She asks him to pick her up. Without questioning it, he obliges, driving at an ungodly speed. When he arrives, he finds Natasha, beaming with bags in hand and a noticeable, pregnant belly. 

They get married quietly, but happily. There’s some consternation from older people within the town, but his mother accepts it with surprising grace. She had given up on the idea of a grandchild a long time ago, and the prospect of it nows seems to revive her to how she was before his father’s death. As the pregnancy continues, his mother fusses over her, catering to her every need. She has fallen in love with her almost as much as Kolya himself.

The baby arrives early. There are complications when their son is born. Victor Nikolayevich Nikiforov comes out strong and healthy. Natasha does not. Her smile is more stained, her posture slightly hunched. But she passionately refuses to relinquish their newborn son to the nurse when she’s supposed to rest.

When the two come home from the hospital, Natasha is fiercely possessive of Vitya. She seldom lets go of him, even hesitating to pass him into the arms of her husband. Though she’s mostly recovered, her entire constitution has a fragility that did not exist before. When the time comes for her to start working at the music school again, she resignedly passes Vitya into the hands of his grandmother and goes back to teaching. She still manages well and her students love her. Only Kolya sees how her smiles falter once the students leave. He changes her schedule so she is only working three days a week. She refuses to work less.

Aside from that...they are happy. Kolya could have never imagined he’d have such a family. He wonders at their little Vitya. Though he has Kolya’s hair, he mostly takes after Natasha, much to Kolya’s delight. He is bright, smiles often, seldom fusses. On occasion, he wonders at Natasha - she could have given the child up. She has lost her potential career as a famous soprano. Why did she choose to build a family with him? When he has the courage to bring it up with her, she just smiles. 

“I wanted to raise another artist with my dedicated artist husband. We will populate the world with artists!”

Kolya does not know what he has done to deserve such a wife and son.

When his mother peacefully passes, they discover they need some help. Natasha sticks her nose up at any and all of the State-run nurseries, so they must hire a nanny and housekeeper through friends of friends. Her name is Tanya - she is the town busybody and oddball, but her rates are reasonable and Natasha loves her. Tanya is just as protective of Vitya as she is, and that’s all it takes for the two to get along.

One day in the middle of a lesson, Natasha collapses. At the hospital, the doctor says she may not be able to handle another pregnancy, and Kolya decides she will never have to. 

Once again…things don't go as planned. 

They discover she is pregnant with their second child in May. When Kolya brings up the option of abortion, Natasha vehemently refuses.

“The baby is due in December. Vitya will have a little brother or sister to celebrate his birthday with - won’t that be lovely?”

Even after hours of discussing things with the doctor, she is resolute. She believes she is strong enough to handle it. Kolya is wary, but knows that the decision is hers. He and Tanya do their best to ensure everything will go smoothly. Kolya limits her working hours even more. Tanya does almost all of the housework. Natasha becomes cranky with the inactivity and ends up focusing all her attention on Vitya. Kolya is content to take care of the school administrative work in his study at home so he can leave his door open and listen to them play. Natasha often creates elaborate games of make believe for Vitya, though he is too young to understand. Their house alternates between being a jungle, castle, and pirate ship at an amazing speed of imagination. Kolya listens contented as Vitya’s delighted laughter at his mother’s antics fills up the house. 

But it doesn’t last.

In December of 1991, the Soviet Union collapses. Kolya hardly notices because it is the same month Natasha and their unborn daughter die in a bed of blood at the hospital. Nothing is the same.

He doesn’t know how to face Vitya. Vitya is too young to understand that his mother is gone. Everytime he toddles over to Kolya with those familiar, jovial blue eyes, Kolya remembers what he has lost and despairs. It’s even worse when he cries. He has no idea what to do when Vitya cries, not that he ever knew what to do with crying people in the first place.

The softness Natasha found within him has died with her. He can’t be a loving father. He doesn’t know how to show affection or care for a child. His only comfort is that Tanya showers Vitya with the love of two parents. He knows that this is unfair to his son, but he can’t bring himself to do or be more.

He is Kolya the accountant. The administrator of a music school who is disliked by most of his employees. Anton Nikolayevich’s less than lively son.

Dutiful. 

Boring. 

Cold.

Lonely.

Some days he gets lost in feelings of guilt. He feels that he is the one who robbed Natasha of her future - that if it had not been for him, she would be alive and become a successful opera singer performing around the world. Other days he just mourns. He misses her loud, obnoxious laughter. Her lullabies for Vitya before bedtime. Her dancing. Her eyes. Her everything.

After months of this, Tanya finally loses patience and scolds him.

“You are Vitya’s father! You have a duty. Stop wallowing!”

“But I don’t know how to be a father,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to play with him or love him the way Natasha did.”

Tanya’s expression softens and she addresses him more gently.

“Kolya, just focus on what you know. Focus on what you can do. There is more than one way to be a father.”

The woman is only five years his senior, but at this moment she sounds decades wiser. Kolya has a moment of clarity.

There is indeed one thing he can do - he can build a future for his son. He can make the school successful, maybe actually earn money from it. He can scrimp and save and do odd jobs, maybe do accounting for neighbors, help local business owners manage money. Anything. He will bury himself in work if he has to. Then he can send his son away from this suffocating, place full of heavy memories. The Soviet Union is gone, which means anything is possible. Maybe he can send him abroad. He can study in France or England or even the United States and become anything he wants. His son will achieve what neither he nor Natasha could. 

The present is dim. But the future is bright. He will make sure of it.

**_Present-Day Tokyo - December_ **

Yuuri left his hotel in a hurry. By the time he reached the rink, he was sweating profusely. Though he had already done it a few times, he disliked being at a competition without Victor, and he was extra nervous. The men’s short program at the Japanese Nationals was the next day, and the fact that he had gotten the gold medal last year did not help him in his battle with the onslaught of nerves. His worst enemy was himself on these occasions. 

He tried distracting himself with memories of Victor’s short program at the Russian Nationals yesterday. He had skated an experimental program to some strange, dissonant electronic music that didn’t develop at all.  [The song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJXt2e-14Xw) was the result of an odd recommendation request he had made to Otabek. The music was perhaps one of the most controversial choices he’d made in the course of his career, but when he debuted it during the Grand Prix series, he had people on their feet and had managed to convince the judges that he deserved to be on top once again, leaving Yuuri with a silver medal, not that he minded much.

The performance was haunting every time. That in conjunction with his wistful free skate made people wonder how the two were related. Yuuri knew. Victor had told him in private that his short program was inspired by the nightmares he used to have before he met Yuuri. The free skate was the hope he found in the aftermath of their love. Remembering this encouraged Yuuri to push his undermining anxiety further from his mind. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped.

After he got changed, his phone vibrated. Yuuri pulled his phone from his pocket expecting to get a call from his parents or Minako, but instead, “Yuri Plisetsky” flashed across the screen. Somewhat astonished, he picked up. Before he could say anything, Yuri’s voice exploded into his ear.

“Katsudon - when the fuck are you getting back to Russia?!”

Yuuri barely got out an “um” when the Russian ice tiger charged in once more.

“The old geezer has been acting all chipper and extra huggy the past few days and I don’t like it. Get back here and fix it!”

It was in the middle of the night in Russia. It seemed like Yuri’s anger came from a place of real concern rather than annoyance, or else the teen would have just texted. Yuuri wondered if Victor was getting nervous about his retirement press conference after the Russian Nationals. But that wouldn’t have made much sense - when it came to dealing with the press, Victor was the last person to get anxious. 

“Hmm...since when has he been like this? Did anything in particular happen?” 

“I don’t fucking know!”

“All right, all right,” Yuuri said, trying to get Yuri to calm down. “My flight is coming in on the 26th. I’m supposed to-”

“Wait...maybe something did happen.”

Yuuri’s grip on his phone tightened.

“What?”

“He disappeared for a really long time at some point,” he said slowly, as if still piecing the story together himself. “Yakov was going nuts looking for him, and I found him talking on the phone in some closet. He shut me out immediately, and when he came back, he was all annoying and shit.”

“Do you know who he was on the phone with?

“ehh...Anya?

Yuuri’s breath hitched.

“Do you mean Tanya?”

“Dunno. Maybe?”

Oh no.

“Do you know what he’s doing right now? Is he sleeping? I’m going to give him a call.”

“I’m not his fucking keeper, shithead! You are! Just call him and find out!”

Just as suddenly as he had called, Yuri hung up. Yuuri chewed on his lower lip as he pulled up Victor’s number and hit the call button. He was supposed to be warming up for practice, but there’d be no point if all he could worry about was Victor. Victor picked up after four long rings. 

“Yuuri! You're early!” his voice rang out with loud enthusiasm. “I wasn't going to call until after practice.”

Yuuri could already hear it in his voice. Something was wrong. “Tanya called, didn’t she?”

Without missing a beat, Victor replied, “Wow! Our psychic love connection is amazing!”

Yuuri couldn’t even bring himself to chuckle. “Yuri called,” he explained.

This time, Victor did pause. The reluctant sigh that escaped from him confirmed Yuuri’s worst fear.

“Yes...I had a feeling he might,” Victor said finally, the fake energy from before fading from his voice. “He shouldn’t have. Your short program’s tomorrow.”

Yuuri ignored the concern about his competition. This was more important. “Is it…”

“Yuuri.” Victor said firmly, stopping Yuuri from continuing. “Can you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Skate beautifully,” he said with a quiet wishfulness. “I'd like to kiss a gold medal that isn't mine when you get home.”

Right. What he had to do was the same. Nothing had changed. When he skated, it was for both of them.

“Ok,” he answered, hoping his voice reflected his determination. “I’ll call you again after practice.” 

“Yuuri!” Victor called out before he could hang up.

“Yes?”

“ 愛してる ”

Yuuri’s heart warmed. Victor had been studying more Japanese lately, but had only been focusing on romantic phrases, much to Yuuri’s occasional chagrin.

“Я тоже тебя люблю,” he replied. A low laugh rolled out from the speaker, wiping away Yuuri’s worries about his pronunciation. “Don't accidentally suffocate Yuri when you hug him, ok?” 

“I'll try,” his fiancé said lightly. “No promises!”

They hung up with Yuuri feeling more resolute than ever. As he walked out to the rink, his hands formed tight fists, his thumb rubbing his engagement ring without him realizing. 

Time to show his love on the ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yurio made a cameo!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome. Suggestions and criticism are usually helpful.
> 
> 愛してる (ai shiteru) = I love you 
> 
> Я тоже тебя люблю (Ya tozhe tibya liublyoo) = I love you too
> 
> Got better translations? Will happily replace and use.
> 
> We spent a lot of time in the mind of Victor’s father this chapter - I hope you didn’t hate it. Because I kind of loved it. Unbeknownst to Victor, he’s actually a decent mix of his mother and father in terms of both looks and character. We are not our parents, but they have huge effects on our lives whether they mean to or not.
> 
> This chapter is where that inaccurate history tag comes in. Accurate: the Soviet Union dissolved in December 1991. (Probably) inaccurate: what the actual effects of that were on the daily lives of the common people. In general, I tried to be vague on the Soviet details here, but I honestly have no idea how daily life was or how accounting worked or if someone owning/managing a private music school would be a viable possibility (at least not in the way the Nikiforov family does it). It probably would’ve been easier to write in a fictionalized Russia without worrying about the Soviet Union at all, but I made a choice and here we are.
> 
> Natalya/Natasha’s name is an homage to Natasha and Andrei from War and Peace. They’re not exactly parallels in terms of character, but she is to Kolya what Natasha is to Andrei when they first fall in love.
> 
> Victor’s short program music is a little like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJXt2e-14Xw . You can hear why some figure skating traditionalists might be shocked. Oh well. Victor don’t give a fuck.
> 
> The last chapter is next, but I’m considering a post-canon series. Let’s see where my somewhat angsty ideas take me.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/)


	6. Steeping Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After enjoying their post-Nationals reunion, Victor and Yuuri return to Solnelchik, where Victor makes some unexpected discoveries.
> 
> Smut warning

The single day between the end of Japanese Nationals and Yuuri arriving back in St. Petersburg was the longest in Victor’s life. He could switch off his feelings of ennui when he was in coach mode, but as soon as the need for Coach Victor was gone, he felt his heart collapse on itself. When he woke up that morning, he had forgotten it was his own birthday until Yuuri texted him.

_ Happy birthday to my idol, my hero, my coach and my best friend. Love you. Be there before you know it. _

That little bit of light got him out of bed with enough energy to take Makkachin on a walk. In the early afternoon he watched a stream of Yuuri’s exhibition skate, and that was enough to get him to meet up with his rinkmates for lunch. He declined plans to do a late dinner and go out, citing the need to wake up early so he could pick up Yuuri from the airport. In reality, he didn’t think he could hold up his flashy smile for that long without consuming an unhealthy amount of caffeine and alcohol.

At lunch, Yuri kept shooting him sour faces and looking at his phone. When he hugged the others goodbye, Yuri held back a bit so he could be the last one to leave. 

“Awww, did you want me to save the best for last, Yurio?” Victor teased. 

“Ugh. You're so disgustingly pathetic without Katsudon,” Yuri spat, sticking his tongue out. “You'd better be fine tomorrow when he's back.” 

Before Victor could retort, Yuri punched his shoulder lightly. “Happy birthday, idiot.”

Victor could only smile as the teen walked off in the direction of his dorm. Yuri was growing up so fast.

The rest of the day just was.

Makkachin did her best to distract him, doing that cute thing where she pretended to lose her ball, then would sneakily kick it out from underneath a table. Such a trick usually earned her an “Amazing!”. Instead Victor just sighed. Sensing his need, she opted to jump up on the couch with him and nuzzle her head on his lap.

Victor felt small. Something terrible had happened, and yet everything was the same.

His father was gone. And Victor was still here.

Though he hadn't thought it would happen so soon, he had had months to prepare for it. Before he had even known his father had leukemia, he had rationalized that when the man died, it would be fine. It wouldn't be the earth shifting tragedy it was for other people - they were different. His relationship with the man was nonexistent in the years leading up to his death, and a single marriage blessing for the future couldn't fill up the years of space his father had put between them. 

But...Victor couldn't stop replaying the scene in his mind. His father's last words to him had been for his son to marry Yuuri and leave Solnelchik. The way the man had said it made it seem like marrying Yuuri and being in Solnelchik were two opposing forces that couldn't exist together. And for the life of him, Victor still hadn't figured out why his father had said it at all.

Makkachin's sudden antsiness pulled him out of his thoughts and reminded him that he still had a life to tend to. He took her out for another walk, came home, microwaved something Yuuri had cooked and frozen before leaving, and dutifully ate everything in spite of his lack of appetite. 

He tried watching their usual soap opera, but it wasn't nearly as fun without Yuuri there to pick apart the stupid characters and plot holes with him. 

He ended up going to bed early, changing into a pair of pajama pants and a shirt. The bed was oddly cold when Yuuri was gone, even with Makkachin cuddled up next to him. Yuuri was already on the plane, meaning he had no one to text goodnight or good morning to. He scrolled through pictures and videos of Yuuri skating instead, hopping on to Instagram to see what his favorite fan accounts had posted. He mass-liked whatever he could find before his eyes finally felt burned out from staring at his phone screen for so long.

God. If this was life without Yuuri, he was glad he was retiring soon. Then he could fly out with Yuuri for every competition. He could follow Yuuri everywhere and be with him forever.

Then he remembered that he couldn't.

With that dark thought lingering in his mind, he fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up just before his alarm went off. He tried his best not to hurry unnecessarily, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop the irrational part of his brain that said if he hurried, he'd see Yuuri sooner.

The teenager had been right. He really was pathetic without Yuuri.

If the day before had been slow, the hours before the arrival of Yuuri's flight moved like lead. He found himself and Makkachin at the airport an hour before he had planned. He pretended to window shop at all the stores that weren't even open yet and settled in a cafe with a disgusting cappuccino he didn't want.

After the 57th time he checked his phone, he could finally leave the cafe and make his way to the arrivals door with Makkachin. When they got there, Victor fidgeted, petting Makkachin a little too roughly and perking up at every person who came through the automatic doors only to be let down when he realized it wasn't who he was waiting for. 

When the doors slid open once again after a half hour of waiting, he almost didn’t look up.

He was glad he did.

There he was running towards Victor with his luggage dragging haphazardly behind him. Unkempt hair hidden beneath a beanie, baggy sweats that clashed with his coat, and the most gentle smile Victor had ever seen. His heart swelled up bigger than his chest could manage.

Needless to say, they both ended up on the floor in an embrace, with Makkachin doing her best to pile on top of them. 

The only cosmetic product recommended by Victor that Yuuri used off the ice was a luxury lip balm. Victor could taste it on Yuuri's lush lips as he kissed his fiancé on the ground, completely ignoring the censuring looks from some of the older people waiting in the crowd of the airport. He wanted to bury himself in Yuuri’s arms and not move for at least a year. It wasn’t until a polite member of the airport staff came by that the two stood up, brushed themselves off and made their way to the parking lot.

They didn't say much on the way home. Victor was content to listen to Yuuri's gentle breathing, his light humming as he fiddled with the radio, his occasional questions to Makkachin as to whether she had done a good job taking care of Victor in his stead. It was all music to him.

“Victor…”

“Hmm?”

“Eyes on the road,” he scolded, playful, but earnest.

Victor had been stealing as many glances as possible the whole drive. It wasn’t his fault that Yuuri’s matted bangs fell so gracefully over his glasses, or that Yuuri’s cheeks were still pink from the cold walk between the airport and the parking lot. He desperately wanted to take his right hand off the wheel and hold Yuuri’s, but after a few close-calls earlier that year, Yuuri had made a rule - no hand-holding in the car.

When they finally made it home and took off their coats, they settled on the couch for a quick cuddle before preparing lunch. They lay horizontally with Victor resting his head on the arm of the couch and Yuuri’s head against his chest. Suddenly the apartment felt more like home than it had in the last week. 

They had a lazy conversation about the competitions. Who did well, who didn’t. How mad Yuri had been that Victor was retiring. How Minami had fussed over Yuuri and his gold medal. How promising the new skaters on the horizon were.

Suddenly Yuuri perked up.

“Ah! I need to show you something.”

Yuuri got up as Victor audibly whined and protested at the loss of his fiancé’s warmth in his arms.

“I’ll be right back, I promise!” Yuuri laughed, running to his suitcase. He returned with an oversized book in hand. He had Victor sit up, plopped down on the couch next to him, and handed the book over to Victor.

“It’s your birthday present,” he said, blushing just a bit. “Sorry it’s late...I still had to finish it and wanted to give it to you in person.”

Victor felt a twinge of excitement as he opened it. The first page was filled with newspaper clippings and photos from his junior debut. Next to photos of him at major competitions, Yuuri had written notes detailing his memories of watching that particular performance, how it had inspired him to attempt new jumps and turns. As he flipped further through the pages, he realized the album followed his entire career and included mentions of him from every major website, newspaper, and magazine. As he reached his advancement into the senior levels, however, the subject matter changed slightly. Intermingling with reports of his own career were reports of Yuuri’s. There were a few spots about his junior debut, and mentions of his results in competition. He turned more and more pages, realizing that the album was a timeline of both of their careers. 

Each clip was neatly cut, laminated and attached. The order had been carefully thought out and arranged to fit the logic of what Yuuri had written, sometimes pairing reports of their results when Yuuri had been particularly inspired by Victor that year and attempted to emulate certain elements of Victor’s past performances. 

“Yuuri…this is perfect.” 

Victor felt so full, it almost hurt to breathe. The thoughtfulness of it all was more than he even remotely deserved. 

“You've…been part of my life for a long time. I just wanted you to know how thankful I am for that. And now that I get to be a part of your life,” he said, turning the page to a newsclip of Victor announcing he'd become Yuuri's coach. “I'm just… I'm really happy.”

Victor put the album on the coffee table so he could take Yuuri into his arms again. He hugged him tightly, wanting to somehow reflect the squeezing of his own heart. He kissed Yuuri on the forehead, but it wasn't enough. He showered more rapidfire kisses all over Yuuri's face, making him wrinkle his nose and giggle. 

So beautiful.

He started laying more serious kisses across Yuuri's cheek, making his way to his fiancé’s lips. They were so, so soft. He sucked on the lower lip and appreciated the fleshy plumpness and sweetness of it. When he released it, he admired the raw, redness he left behind before kissing down Yuuri's neck and sucking down little love bites. 

  
"Victor...ahhh..." Yuuri moaned. "I...I haven't even showered yet. I smell like airplane."   
  
"Mm-mmm," Victor shook his head into the nape of his lover's neck. "You smell like Yuuri."   
  


“That's-ahhhhh, Vitya!” Victor had just bitten and sucked down hard. That one would probably leave a mark. 

Yuuri pushed onto Victor’s shoulders, forcing him to release his neck and look his lover in the eye. Yuuri seemed somewhat exasperated, his eyebrows knitted and his face a deep shade of pink. He put his hands on Victor’s cheeks and squished, deepening the pout.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting? I haven’t showered in over a day!”   
  
Victor took one of Yuuri’s hands off his cheeks and put it near his mouth. He started sucking on the index and middle fingers, his tongue dancing along the length of them. He looked straight into his lover's eyes as his teeth bit down teasingly. Yuuri's lips were lazily parted, as if he had meant to say something else but realized it didn't matter. He inhaled sharply as Victor continued caressing his fingers with his tongue.   
  
"Bedroom?" he finally said, breathless.

Victor released his fingers and took him by the hand. They kissed while they frantically tried to walk and push their clothes off simultaneously, both of them clawing underneath the shirt of the other and grabbing at skin. By the time they made it to the bedroom and closed the door behind them, Yuuri had already removed Victor’s shirt and Victor had Yuuri’s pants half-way down. Yuuri ended up tripping over them and landing on the bed, giving Victor the chance to pull them off completely. He got on the floor to peel off Yuuri’s socks, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. When they were off, he remained on the ground and held on to Yuuri’s legs tightly. As Yuuri attempted to sit up, Victor buried his head in his lap and started mouthing the cloth around the hardening erection. 

Victor wanted to be on his knees. He wanted to worship all that was Yuuri and be completely at his mercy. He wasn't sure what to call this consuming feeling. Maybe neediness. Before he had met Yuuri, the idea of being so easily affected by someone, of wanting someone so badly you beg, was almost distasteful. But as he kneeled before his loving fiancé, Victor felt no shame. If he was being needy, Yuuri didn't seem to care. He accepted everything with care and affection. Victor could feel it in the way he gently combed his fingers through Victor’s hair and watched his lover at work.

If Victor had a kink, it was Yuuri in briefs. It was even more engrossing than seeing the man naked. He palmed the stretched fabric hiding his lover’s cock, loving how strongly Yuuri would react to his touch even through the extra layer. He continued teasing, massaging Yuuri’s thighs as he bit dangerously close around the area of interest.   
  


"I-I want to..." Yuuri panted, unable to finish the thought. He didn't have to. Victor knew exactly what he wanted, and he wanted it too. He wanted to be filled with Yuuri. He slid Yuuri's briefs off, releasing his cock into the open air. 

Yuuri took Victor’s hands and pulled him onto the bed with him. He crawled up to the head of the bed, taking off his glasses and placing them on the side table. He reached over further to pull the lube and a condom out from the drawer. At the sight of the condom, Victor shook his head.

“I don’t want you to wear one this time.”

“What?” Yuuri said, flustered half from his lust, half from his fiancé’s request. When Victor joined him, he pinned Victor on the bed between his thighs and leaned down to look him in the eye. “Are you sure?”

Victor had already been tested with the results coming out clean long ago. In spite of that, the two still used condoms for the feel and safety of it. But today Victor wanted something...more. It was a selfish request, especially in the middle of foreplay. He didn’t mean it that way, but he wanted to feel all of Yuuri. He wanted Yuuri to know how much he trusted him. He wanted Yuuri to trust him just as much. 

He held his breath, waiting for Yuuri to say no. 

But he didn’t.

“Tell me if it’s too much, ok? Be honest.”

Victor nodded, marvelling at Yuuri. He must have been a saint in a past life so he could get Yuuri in this one.

Yuuri moved down and situated himself between Victor’s legs. He slid his pants and underwear off in one swoop and angled Victor's legs up for easy access. Victor could hear the squirt from the bottle, his cock already at attention with anticipation. Yuuri started tracing circles around the rim, making Victor shudder. The coolness of the lube felt pleasant. Comforting almost. That changed the more Yuuri worked. By the time his finger made its way inside him, Victor felt like he was all nerves. He breathed deeply as Yuuri worked him open, circling and teasing the areas he knew drove Victor mad. He wriggled at the touch, longing for Yuuri to go deeper. The desire coursing through his whole body suddenly concentrated itself in his nether regions. He’d been getting harder with each brush against his prostate.

“Yuuri...Yuuri…” he sighed. “It’s enough. I'm ready for you.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow, pretending to be skeptical.

“Always so impatient,” he teased, carefully inserting a third finger, turning his palm up and brushing at the spot more forcefully.

The moan that escaped from Victor's mouth was almost inhuman. He felt ruined already, his mind teetering on the edge of sanity.

“Yuuri!” he begged. 

Yuuri hummed, satisfied. He slowly pulled his fingers out, Victor groaning at the loss. He watched Yuuri pour more lube into his hands and take his erection, working himself up and down a few times as he watched Victor watching him. 

The want in Yuuri's eyes was almost wolfish. Victor basked in the attention, loving how his gaze appeared to eat up every part of him. 

He positioned himself, Victor feeling the head at his entrance. The anticipation swirled in his gut, stuck as Yuuri made his way in. They both inhaled sharply, their breaths in sync as they adjusted to the width of the other. The stretch was a mix of pain and pleasure - it had been a while since Victor had taken Yuuri in, and even with the preparation, it still took him a few extra breaths for the sting to refocus into a pleasant buzz. 

Yuuri waited, patient but hungry. Victor nodded and sighed, giving Yuuri license to grab on to Victor’s hips and start thrusting. The leisurely pace he took helped to even out the sensation of pleasure, letting it spread out through his chest, his arms, his thighs - when it made it to his head, he was moaning. Feeling Yuuri directly, knowing this was only his, made his cock twitch without being touched. He could barely contain himself just from the sight of his lover’s eyes darkening with each thrust. They were both hypnotized by the other. 

As the pace quickened, he clenched around Yuuri, and reached out to pull his lover closer. Yuuri adjusted by taking a hand away from Victor’s hip and moving it up by Victor’s head, grabbing onto Victor’s hand in the process to steady himself. The angle changed as Yuuri lowered his lips to meet Victor’s. They kissed roughly, Victor sucking on Yuuri’s lip again and biting with the deepening of each thrust. 

More...he wanted more…

“Let’s turn around,” Yuuri said, reading Victor’s thoughts again.

He slowed down his thrusts, eventually pulling out of Victor to give him the chance to flip over. The loss was almost painful. As soon as he was bent over, he pushed himself onto Yuuri.

“Yuuri...fuck, don’t make me beg.” 

He grabbed onto Victor’s ass and squeezed.

“Maybe I want you to beg,” he hummed, taking the chance to bite Victor’s shoulder as he entered him once again. Yuuri kept his chest flush against Victor’s back as he thrust in even deeper, his hand still clenched tightly on the back of Victor’s while his other reached to pinch the head of Victor’s cock.

“Vitya, you’re so wet for me here already,” he groaned, his thumb rubbing the pearl of precum on the tip of his cock. “God...you’re so warm and soft here…it’s...” he thrust in harder for emphasis. 

Victor could only muster a moan in response as he felt Yuuri get deeper and deeper. Though he couldn’t face his lover in this position, it somehow felt more intimate. He had to trust that Yuuri would read his moans and body and then angle himself accordingly. He felt so much more vulnerable and so much more protected all at once, especially with Yuuri bent over him like this, pressing kisses and bites onto his shoulder as they continued.

Yuuri started working his cock up and down. The leftover lube on his hand intensified the sensation, making his thoughts go dim and his cock ache.

“Yuuri, I’m going to-” 

“Vitya, come for me. I want you to,” Yuuri said, moving his hand rhythmically with his own thrusts. He moved his other hand away from Victor’s and dipped them into Victor’s mouth. The stifling of his own moans with Yuuri’s fingers, the consistent thrusts against his prostate, and the pressure around his cock became too much - he could hardly breath. Before he knew it, his orgasm spilled out as he sucked hard on Yuuri’s finger. The sucking seemed to do it for Yuuri too. He felt his hot come inside of him. That sensation alone almost made him feel like he could come twice. 

After Yuuri steadied his thrusts, he slipped out, breathless. They collapsed into each other, both of them reeling from the explosion after almost a week without physical contact. Victor’s heartbeat felt loud in his own ears. He tucked himself into the crook of Yuuri's arm, pulling the sweaty, panting man as close as possible. The arm wound around him, Yuuri leaning his head down to Victor's ear so he could whisper.

“You have to let me shower before round two.”

By the time the day was over, they had made love three times total, not counting Yuuri giving Victor head in the living room before dinner during Makkachin’s usual naptime.

When they turned in for the evening, Victor felt pleasantly lightheaded. Yuuri spooned him, his arms tucked around the taller man’s body with his head resting at the nape of his neck. Before either of them could nod off, Yuuri's embrace tightened. He had something he wanted to say. Victor turned around to face him, doing his best not to break contact.

The confidence and dreaminess of their sex mini-marathon had worn off, leaving a shyer, somewhat anxious Yuuri. Victor had been waiting for the drop the whole day, but Yuuri had spoiled him instead. 

“When…” he started, unsure of how to finish the question. 

Victor waited. He had been learning slowly to be more patient when Yuuri needed to get something out.

“When are we....going to Solnelchik?”

The question hung in the air for awhile. It took up space in Victor’s lungs and swirled into his ears, making him feel deaf. 

“Sorry...we...we don't have to think about it tonight,” Yuuri said, his fingers fidgeting on Victor's arms. 

“Yuuuurrii,” Victor sighed. “Don't apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry. You were worrying about me the whole time, weren’t you?”

Yuuri shrugged a little. “You know how I am.”

Indeed, Victor had become very well acquainted with Yuuri’s worrying over the past year, making him wonder at Yuuri all the more. His performance at Japanese Nationals was stunning, and that was with the external anxiety pressing on his mind. It’s not as if his issues had gone away, but at least this time, he had managed to balance his negativity without Victor being there physically to support him. That was a huge step up already from last year. Victor almost wanted to laugh at the idea of Yuuri retiring now. The skater had improved and still had room to grow.

“You shouldn’t be sorry either,” Yuuri whispered, looking down. “It’s...it was always going to be hard.”

“Yeah…” Victor said, playing a bit with Yuuri’s bangs as he moved them aside from Yuuri’s eyes. “I’m...we’re going next weekend. Is that ok?”

Yuuri looked up and nodded, not even thinking about it.

And so it was settled.

They arrived in Solnelchik the first weekend in January. Tanya had taken care of all of the funeral arrangements already, though she had had a rough time of it since the town was gearing up for Christmas. There was a surprising number of Russian Orthodox Christians left in Solnelchik, and they all had their own family matters to attend to. 

This time, they had left Makkachin behind in St. Petersburg with Georgi. It didn’t feel quite right to bring the cheerful pup along for a funeral. As soon as they arrived at the Nikiforov house, however, Victor found himself missing the comfort of her fur in his arms. 

The house and yard were covered in snow, but a neat path from the driveway to the entrance had been shoveled. Tanya was there to greet them at the door. Though she did not run up to them excitedly like last time, she smiled gently when Yuuri gave her a hug and Victor bent down to greet her with a kiss.

“ _ Welcome back.” _

With the exception of a few boxes here and there, the house was empty. The dining room table, china cabinet, and sofas were gone. The kitchen table had been replaced by a temporary fold-up one Tanya seemed to have brought over, along with a handful of fold-up chairs. They settled in as Tanya pulled a kettle out of a large bag and filled it with water to make tea.

“ _ Your father was giving away and selling everything when...when he… _ ” she couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it. Instead she sighed and shook her head. “ _ What a foolish man. _ ”

Victor didn’t know what she meant. It seemed normal to him. Of course his careful father would try to arrange everything before his death, though perhaps selling off all of his possessions so quickly was a bit extreme.

They filled the empty house with logistical talk about the funeral. It would start at 10. There would be the usual ceremony held by Father Ivanov at the church, though his father had never been religious. Afterwards, they would walk to the cemetery with Victor in the front to lead the procession, bury the casket, and then have a small reception at the house. Victor nodded along, the conversation itself seeming unreal. He sighed, feeling guilty that Tanya had taken care of all these details rather than him, the man’s son. 

Before Tanya left for the night, she beckoned Victor to come out with her to her car. She pulled out over-sized, woolen sweaters she had made for them, as well as a generous supply of sheets and blankets from her trunk.

“ _ I...I don’t know if you’re comfortable in it, but your father’s bed is the only one left. You can also come stay at my house if you’d rather…” _

Victor took the pile of blankets from her hands and smiled as best as he could.

“ _ It’s all right, _ ” he said, kissing her cheek in reassurance. “ _ We’ll be fine. _ ”

She wasn’t convinced. She held his face in her warm, slightly wrinkled hand and gave his cheek a light pinch.

“ _ All right, Vitya. As you want. _ ” 

After she drove into the darkness, Victor had a vague memory of the evenings he used to see Tanya off when he was a child. He shuddered, then remembered Yuuri was waiting for him back in the house. The thought comforted him and pulled him through the rest of the evening.

Sleeping in his father’s old room was not as unpleasant as he’d anticipated, especially with Yuuri by his side. The bed was the only thing left in it. It was otherwise completely devoid of anything to remind him of the man, though he had never been in the room that often in the first place. 

The next morning was a blur. Victor went through the motions, with Yuuri acting as his only anchor to get him from A to B. Somehow they got up and put on their suits. Somehow they ate and made it to the church. Somehow Victor managed to stand at the front of the aisle to greet mourners. People he somewhat recognized passed by him and circled his father’s casket with the usual kisses and tears. Father Ivanov spouted a string of empty prayers and hymns. By the time they had buried the casket and made their way to the house for the reception, Victor had completely lost his sense of time. 

He was shocked when they arrived at the house. It was lively. Sometime in-between when they left in the morning and when they returned, someone had filled the house with fold up tables and chairs as well as a record player stocked with classical records to play. A modest offering of warm and cold dishes were being served. It was too much work for Tanya to put together by herself. 

For the first time that day, Victor actually took notice of the guests. Some he recognized by face, but he could only name a handful. Apparently, many had brought the food and furniture along with them, some older women taking over the serving while men set up additional furniture and shoveled areas around the house to make the door easier to get to for people still milling in. 

A surprisingly large portion of the people of Solnelchik was there. As far as he knew, his father had never been particularly friendly or popular with anyone. He never went to parties or gatherings unless it had to do with the school, so why on earth were so many people there for the funeral? Obligation? Was it because their children had been music school students, or because despite his cold attitude, his father was still somewhat of a figure within the town as the music school owner? 

He glanced around. Yuuri had been cornered by a group of children who were bombarding him with questions about skating and Japan. Despite his nervousness, he did his best to entertain them and keep up with the conversation. Tanya was laughing loudly with some other guest about someone’s idiot son. He quickly realized he’d been operating on auto-pilot for hours, receiving kisses and hugs from a steady stream of people who offered their condolences, complimented his performance at Nationals, and asked him what he wanted to do after retirement. They hadn’t come to the funeral just to see Victor, had they? 

As if to answer his question, a mournful-looking older woman wearing layers of woolen sweaters, an oversized scarf and huge boots approached him.

“ _ Many of the people here owe your father a great debt, _ ” she said, not introducing herself and simply taking him by the hand. Before he could ask her to explain, she kissed him on the cheeks and turned to greet Tanya, who had come to his side. They exchanged a few pleasantries, how was her daughter doing, the weather was better than expected, Father Ivanov did a wonderful job, etc.

When she left, Victor turned to Tanya with a raised eyebrow. She leaned her head on the side of Victor’s arm and took him into a half-hug.

_“Your father took on a lot of small accounting jobs from the people around town when the Union fell. People didn’t know how to manage._ _The fee he took for the service was modest compared to the destitution he saved them from. Of course, it’s not as if he could take more, since no one’s pockets were very deep.”_

Victor had never known this. He thought his father spent most of his time and energy on the school, though in retrospect, he realized it was strange for a man who ran a school to work almost every weekend. Throughout the years, it seemed his father had taught an entire community how to manage their money and assets.

_ “But...why? It’s not like we needed the money. After I started skating, he didn’t even have to worry about supporting me anymore. He could’ve just focused on the school. He could’ve even retired early.”  _ A stream of questions flowed through his mind as the revelation hit him. _ “Why am I just finding out about this now?” _

Tanya sighed, releasing Victor and crossing her arms. Oddly enough, she wore a weary smile.  _ “I told you. The man was a fool.”  _

Someone at the serving table called to Tanya to ask for more plates, drawing her away from Victor once again and leaving him to receive more guests. As the day continued, people slowly filtered out. When the bulk of the crowd had left, a man in a shabby-looking suit approached Victor, holding out his hand rather than greeting him with kisses.

The man was his father’s lawyer. He asked Victor to come to his office the next morning to sort out the remaining details of his father’s will. Victor agreed on a time and saved the office address in his phone. The man left, barely remembering to express how sorry he was for Victor’s loss.

Though he had meant to go alone, Yuuri ended up accompanying Victor to the lawyer’s office the next day. When Yuuri followed him outside and into the car, he couldn’t honestly bring himself to tell Yuuri he’d be fine on his own. They walked into the plain, little office hand in hand, approaching the secretary first to tell her they had an appointment. She waved them over to another room. Apparently the lawyer was waiting for them already. 

The lawyer stood up when they entered, reaching out a hand to greet them both, though he didn’t bother introducing himself formally to Yuuri. He got down to business quickly, explaining that his father had drawn up the will a long time ago, even before he had known about his illness. He had taken the chance to review it again a month before his death, but had left the document unchanged. With that, the lawyer held out an envelope to Victor.

Victor took the will from the lawyer's hand gingerly. He didn't like the man. His smile never quite reached his eyes. When he opened the envelope, he found just a single page with a few short paragraphs and several signatures at the bottom.

_ I, Nikolay Antonevich Nikiforov, being of sound mind, bequeath the People's Institution of Music to my son, Victor Nikolayevich Nikiforov. In his hands, I also leave our family home and whatever other money or assets exist in my posession when I die. I leave him to do with those possessions as he sees fit. _

Victor's eyes widened. The school. He hadn't even thought about what would happen to the school. 

"Victor, what is it?" Yuuri leaned over, putting a hand on Victor’s elbow.

"My father...left me his music school."

"Oh...oh!" Yuuri didn't seem to know how to react either. It was such a strange thing, to receive a school. It was an institution that represented years of Victor's jealousy and loneliness. His father had spent more time in that building than with his own son - why was he sharing it with his son now?

_ “Regarding the matters of your father’s music school and the house,” _ the lawyer said, apparently understanding their confusion. _ “Before he died, your father already arranged for the school to be sold to the town of Solnelchik. They hadn’t finished the paperwork before he passed, so at the moment, you are actually the owner of the school. You will need to sign off on the agreement so that the school will be passed into the hands of the city. For the house it’s the same - there are already buyers on board, but you need to sign the deal. I suggest you do so after you have gone through whatever possessions are left in the house, though I believe your father already got rid of everything that he believed was of no use to you.” _

Victor nodded, still a bit stunned. The lawyer pressed on.

_ “Your father left behind a sum of money. Probably modest compared to what you're used to making, but enough to buy a small house in a suburb somewhere, or make a small investment if you are so inclined.” _

The lawyer handed over another envelope, presumably filled with a check. Before Victor could ask, the lawyer moved on to the next point.

_ “I hear your father didn’t get a chance to clear out his office in the school. Would you like to ask someone at the school to sort through it, or would you like to do it yourself?” _

_ “I…” _

Victor hesitated. He hadn’t been to the school in decades at this point. When he was much younger, his father had attempted to get him into a few piano courses, but once Victor got into ice skating, he refused to go anymore.

_ “I’ll go myself if that’s all right. I’ll do it later today.” _

The lawyer nodded and started taking out the paperwork for handing the school over to the city as well as the paperwork for the house. After walking Victor through the particulars of the conditions, and ensuring Victor understood what he was relinquishing in exchange for how much money, the papers for the school were signed. They made another appointment to handle the paperwork for the house, shook hands once more, and parted.

“Are we...going to the school now?” Yuuri asked, climbing into the car.

“I guess we should,” Victor said as he put the key in the ignition. “We’re out anyway.”

It had been so long since Victor had been to the school, he had to look up directions. It was located on the outskirts of town, but still within easy distance of the lake. Victor could feel his fiancé’s eyes on him as he followed the navigation instructions and pretended like he was just running a series of errands. The lawyer had certainly treated it that way. Why couldn't he?

When they pulled up to the school, Yuuri couldn't stop himself from looking in awe. Neither could Victor. He had forgotten how beautiful the building’s facade was, only remembering what it had kept from him.

A long time ago, the building had been a manor for a wealthy family. Victor didn't know if they were ancestors or what, but somehow or other, a great-great grandfather (or was it great-great-great?) came into ownership of the building and refashioned it as a music school. The inside had been gutted and reformatted into more practical, smaller units for classrooms long ago, but the grand looking facade remained.

The tall windows were crowned with white moulding. The moulding jutted out into small elaborate waves, making each set of three windows seem like it was framed for a painting. The yellow bricks were somewhat faded, but still seemed warm, especially when paired with the sight of the daunting chestnut entrance doors.

It was a Monday morning. Students were still at their regular classes, so the school was quiet, and would likely stay that way until the afternoon. They made their way inside and were immediately greeted by a middle-aged woman at the front desk.

_ “Victor Nikolayevich! We didn't expect you today!” _

He vaguely remembered her face from the funeral, but her name didn't register. Reading the lack of recognition on his face, Yuuri nudged Victor and whispered, “That's Galina. Your dad’s assistant.”

Galina divined the purpose of their visit quickly and led them to his father's office.

_ “I suppose there's not much there that's of interest for you. I hope you don't mind - I already cleared out and reorganized all of his files concerning the school. All that's left are some personal items. He ended up spending a lot of time there in the last decade, so I was a bit surprised there wasn't more.” _

She babbled, perhaps feeling a bit nervous and awkward. He couldn't blame her. After all, he had probably met her just yesterday and today he couldn't even recall her name. When they reached the office, she told them to take their time and let her know when they were done so she could lock up the office afterwards. She left them alone to do as they wished.

As Victor surveyed the office, he realized Galina was right. Much like the house, there was barely anything left. The few times he had come by as a child, he recalled stacks and stacks of papers neatly organized throughout the office. Piles of music learning books used to tower tall in each corner, making the place feel cramped and stuffy. He had hated it. But now all that was left was the desk, and a few extra chairs. 

He made his way over, moving around some of the pens and papers. Nothing there of interest. He opened the drawers and found more. A few personal notes here and there. An appointment book detailing staff meetings. A huge pile of sealed envelopes.

Wait. A huge pile of sealed envelopes?

Victor lifted them out from the drawer he found them in. None of them were addressed. Only sealed. How strange. Who were these for, and why had his father never sent them out?

"Victor..."

"Yes?" He had been staring dazedly at the envelopes for a little too long.

"I think you should...open them.”

That was a bit shocking. Yuuri of all people was telling him to breach his father's privacy. Even if the man was dead, the letters were all sealed. These were supposed to be private.

“I know it’s...I know it's kinda weird. He’s...he’s gone and can’t really tell us not to look at them. Also it looks like a lot of reading for you," Victor's mouth lifted in a tiny smile at Yuuri's light teasing. "But he was your father. And these might be his last words. Or maybe they need to be sent to someone important. I don’t know.” 

Yuuri sat in the chair in front of the desk, his hands gripping the chair arms tightly as he looked at the envelopes in Victor’s hands.

“For some reason...I don’t know why...but I feel like you’ve been looking for something ever since we came here. Maybe...maybe that something is there? If I'm being honest, I don't know if reading them will help you or hurt you, but...either way. I'm right here. Ok?"

Victor felt a little like a dumbstruck brat. His lovely fiancé was right, of course. He had to open them.

Victor waited a beat before sliding his finger underneath the first envelope's seal. His father had been so old-fashioned that he always used his personalized wax seal on letters. Now that Victor had the time to consider it, the idea was oddly romantic. As he removed the leafs of paper from the first envelope's belly, he glanced at the pages and recognized his father's careful handwriting. Though the paper was not lined, the sentences and paragraphs were inexplicably parallel to each other. How had he done that? Victor couldn't even manage to keep his signature on a dotted line, let alone write pages and pages worth of words in perfect script. 

Sighing deeply, he straightened out the pages and began to read.

_ My Dear Natasha, _

He immediately put the pages down confused. He then opened the other envelopes, removed their contents, and looked carefully at the tops of them in a stack - they all read  _ “My Dear Natasha” _ . These were all letters to his mother. A bit more curious now, he flipped back to the first page and read on.

_ Today is our Vitya’s 7th birthday. _

_ With every passing day, he becomes more and more like you. Enchanting. Full of energy. Wilful. _

_ I left the office early to celebrate his birthday, something I realized I did all too rarely, and found him wanting to play with your tea set. He stood quite precariously on one of our dining room chairs (the ugly ones from my mother that you always hated). I called out to him for fear that he would fall, and he in turn dropped one of the saucers and sent pieces flying everywhere. For a few very terrible moments I was worried one of the pieces would hit him somewhere. The shards are so small - one could have easily gone into his eye and then blinded him. You must be laughing at me now for my usual extreme paranoia, but I was quite honestly struck with terror. I’m afraid I may have frightened him in the process. I dare not go out for fear of upsetting him even more. I am a useless man in my own home. _

_ What would you have done instead, I wonder? _

_ Love, _

_ Your Kolya _

Victor paused again, lowering the pages a bit.

"Hm? Is something wrong?"

Yuuri seemed to think he was already upset. Victor shook his head.

“These letters are all addressed to my mother.”

“Old love letters, or….?” Yuuri wondered, cautious.

“I’m...I’m not sure. The one I just finished reading was written on my seventh birthday. She died when I was three.” 

Vitya started reading another letter before Yuuri could ask anything more.

_ Today our Vitya has already decided his whole future. _

_ An angry-looking man in a dark trench coat approached me in our family home. He told me Vitya is the most talented young ice skater he’s ever seen, and that he needed to move to St. Petersburg immediately to begin training seriously for some kind of competition. _

_ I balked at the proposal. Vitya is only 12, after all. A bit young to be moving away from his home to pursue something he would be dedicated to for the rest of his life. I’m not entirely familiar with this sport, but I know that much. _

_ For the first time in a long time, I yelled at him. In reality I had more fear than anger. Figure skating is a sport for young men - what will happen when he is older? I had so many doubts, but he was so determined. Then for a moment I remembered the dreams you left behind in St. Petersburg to be his mother and my wife. If I hold him back now, will it be like that? Just the thought of it swayed me enough to let him go. I feel he’s throwing away his future. I am very afraid. Whatever happens, I will continue saving. He needs to have some kind of security. Something to fall back on if the worst happens. _

Victor stopped again. He had a feeling getting through all these letters would take much longer than the polite assistant would be willing to stay and lock up, and yet he couldn’t get himself to put the letters down. He pulled out another one to read.

_ Something quite amazing has happened. Our Vitya has won an Olympic gold medal! _

_ People say our Vitya will go down in history as a legend. Suddenly I feel so foolish. _

_ I spent so much time working on building a legacy for him that he could be proud of, only to realize he needed something else entirely. In other words he no longer needs me. I suppose an old man like me should have guessed it would be like this. But I remain as silly as ever. _

_ I almost robbed our son of his future, like I robbed you of yours. _

_ Will you ever forgive me? _

There were many more letters like these detailing Victor’s career and public appearances. On occasion, his father had written detailed notes about Victor’s performance if he felt the newspaper coverage did not do it justice. Victor chuckled at his father’s occasional complaints about the ridiculously long hair he had as a teenager, calling it self-indulgent and vain. He sighed when he read the shame and guilt he’d never heard the man express.

_ Between all of the medals and success and commercials, I wonder what he will do when I pass him this small sum I have saved for so long. Will he laugh? _

_ I pray I will be gone before he sees it. _

The last letter he read was...more than he knew what to do with.

_ My Dear Natasha, _

_ It seems our Vitya has found love. But I must say, he was a bit flamboyant about it. It made me blush. He jumped and kissed the man on live television during a competition in front of everyone. Even Tanya was shocked.  _

_ Vitya is so popular even an “exuberant hug” (as the state media has sold it) doesn’t seem to harm his public image at all. Russia still adores him. People are much more open these days. They cheered when the two kissed. I think that would make you happy.  _

_ His name is Yuuri Katsuki? Or Katsuki Yuuri? I’m not quite sure - I’ve heard it in both orders. He is the Japanese man whom Vitya has decided to coach this season. _

_ I admit, when Vitya announced he was taking a break from competing, there was a part of me that both feared and wished he would come home and I could be a good father for once and advise him on some new life path. But once again, it has become painfully obvious that Vitya does not need his father in order to grow into becoming a fine man. _

_ I wish you were here to see. You probably would have called him immediately afterwards to ask when to book flights to Japan so you could meet his parents. You always wanted to travel and go to somewhere like Japan. I seem to be a foolish old man set in his ways now. If you had lived longer, would I be different? Would I be the one calling him first? _

_ Love, _

_ Your Kolya _

Victor felt like he was drowning in the pages and pages and pages of words his father had never said aloud. As his head swam, he found a single clear thought floating around the abyss:  _ Why? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, and criticism are appreciated. Please keep it all constructive :)
> 
> Did I say this fic was going to be 6 chapters? Because what I MEANT, was 7 chapters and an epilogue. After I finished writing the first draft, I realized the last chapter was really bloated and needed to be broken up, and the last quarter of it didn’t quite fit in with either chapter as a whole nor was it a full chapter unto itself. Sorry...but not sorry, because I think this will work much better.
> 
> There are a few parallels going on here between the album and the letters. Both were written/created with lots of love! Our Vitya has always been surrounded by love! Unfortunately sometimes that love was misdirected. Anyway, I’m glad a lot of you picked up on that and could see how dedicated Kolya was, even though he went about things the wrong way. I love Kolya and Natasha - may they rest in peace.
> 
> Sex Ed warning-
> 
> This should go without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway because the internet is dark and full of terrors, and in spite of explicit tags, there may be younger, less experienced minds reading this. You should always, always wear condoms when having sex (anal or oral or vaginal) unless you are in a monogamous relationship in which you have both been thoroughly tested AND you’re ready to face consequences in the case of a pregnancy risk. Even in the case of a monogamous relationship, there are many reasons to continue wearing condoms during anal sex, including comfort, UTIs, and potential cheating. This is a work of fiction, and within the world of this particular fiction, Yuuri and Victor would never never never never cheat on each other, especially not in a way that would put the other at risk. In the real world, people make serious mistakes. Be wary and be safe. Know your partner and know yourself.
> 
> That’s the that on that.
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](http://sailormelanie.tumblr.com)


	7. Reading Tea Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor falls again. Yuuri does his best.
> 
> Angst warning.

They had spent so much time in Nikolay’s old office, they had missed lunch. Galina had been too polite to interrupt them, giving Victor the chance to read every single letter in the stack. After he finished, Yuuri expected some kind of...reaction. Instead Victor organized the papers into a neat pile, consolidated them into fewer envelopes, and tucked them into his inner jacket pocket. When they made their goodbyes to Galina, he told her he had gotten what he wanted, and that the rest could be thrown away or donated.

Victor didn’t speak when they left the school. The drive back to the house felt long and weighty. Yuuri didn't know what exactly was in the letters from Victor's father, but something in them had made Victor pensive. When they got home, he was relieved to see Tanya waiting for them at the house with a pot of hot borscht already prepared. Maybe the comfort of his nanny’s familiar dish would loosen up his thoughts. 

Tanya rushed them into the house, insisting they put on the ill-fitting, oddly designed sweaters she had made for them. Yuuri appreciated the thought, but found the wool horribly uncomfortable. Victor put the sweater on without protest. This earned a worried look from Tanya. He shrugged in response, insistent on his indifference. 

When they sat down for dinner, Tanya peppered Victor with questions, some about the school, most about how Victor was feeling. Victor fielded her inquiries with minimal detail. The school was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. His answers left both Yuuri and Tanya unsatisfied and uneasy. Yuuri could only hope they would talk over everything after Victor was done processing...whatever there was to process.

Yuuri was used to being the one prodded for his thoughts, not the other way around. All the same, Yuuri had learned over the course of the last few months just how everything having to do with Victor’s father turned everything he knew about Victor on its head. Victor could also be afraid, unsure and confused. He could get quiet and turn into himself. He just hid it much better than Yuuri ever could. Yuuri wondered if he had never gotten to know Victor like this, if Victor had never become his coach, would he have ever seen through the smiles?

As Tanya cleaned and gathered up the pots she had brought from her own home to cook, she mentioned a pile of boxes in the attic. Victor asked what was up there, his tone casual. She shrugged and explained his father had done all the organizing and labelling himself, refusing her help. After she left for the evening, the two decided to use the time to take a look.

They went upstairs and walked to the far end of the hallway. Victor reached up to pull on a long string hanging from the ceiling. A set of stairs came down, bringing with it a bit of dust. 

“Wait here for a bit,” he cautioned with a smile. “I don’t know how steady the steps are.” 

Before Yuuri could protest, Victor was halfway up the stairs, testing each step with a quick touch. When he was satisfied, he motioned for Yuuri to follow. They walked up the rest of the way slowly, both of them wary of the old, creaking wood. At the top of the steps, Victor stopped, turning his head from side to side to survey the place. 

As a whole, the attic was more like a large wooden cubby hole, the ceiling barely grazing Victor’s head when he straightened his posture. It was as starkly empty as the house was, save for a small pile of boxes set aside in the corner. On every box that was left, Victor’s name was written.

He put a hand on his chin, walking over to the boxes and picking at the flaps of one of them curiously. “I don’t really know what he would have kept for me. Let’s take a look.”

They started sorting through the boxes, opening them one by one and finding old toys, clothes, school work and more. For Yuuri it was like a fanboy dream come true - the attic was like a museum of artifacts dedicated to Victor. He sensed it was different for the man himself. It wasn’t like when Yuuri went home and his mother pulled out his old drawings and bragged about how talented he was at age three. These childhood memories were things Victor had left behind with purpose a long time ago.

The further they dug through the boxes, however, the more amused Victor seemed. When Yuuri caught his eye, Victor took on a somewhat sheepish expression.

“I’m just...surprised he kept this stuff. I didn’t think he was the sentimental type.” 

They continued their work, each of them taking different boxes and setting aside “keep,” “donate,” and “throw away” piles. Not much made it into the “keep” pile, save for a few pieces of schoolwork attached to old photos.  

One of the boxes was marked in huge cyrillic script with the words  _ “Careful - open slowly, Vitya.”  _ Yuuri laughed a little. His father may not have been very involved, but he seemed to have a sense of Victor’s impatience and clumsiness. Yuuri took care to unsheath the box flaps from each other so as not to disturb the contents within. When he got the box open, he found sheets and sheets of light blue tissue paper. He sifted through them, curious as to what kind of childhood toy or trinket required so much wrapping. His fingers brushed against something cold and hard midway through the box. He carefully wrapped his fingers around it - a plate? He pulled it out.

It was a saucer. Or at least the remnants of one. It had been broken before, but was somehow put together into a single plate. Many small, tiny shards appeared to be missing. The alignment in some parts was imperfect, and the saucer was no longer usable. Regardless, someone had taken special care to put it back together.

“Yuuri...what is that?”

Yuuri looked up from the saucer, surprised to see Victor hovering over him and looking strangely pale.

“It’s...I found it here. Might be part of a set. Was it yours?”

Victor shook his head as he fell to his knees, his eyes wide open with surprise. He haltingly reached into the box Yuuri had found the saucer in, moving the tissue paper aside to reveal tea cups, plates, and saucers that all appeared to be in good condition. His hand shook as he took the saucer from Yuuri’s hands to examine it himself. 

“Victor?”

After turning the thing around in his hand several times, he placed the saucer back in the box, taking care to replace the tissue paper. He got up without closing the box and started walking towards the stairs. When his feet hit the steps, Yuuri could hear his pace become more brisk. By the time Yuuri himself was down the stairs, Victor had broken into a sprint, as if the house was not large enough to contain whatever was bursting from him. 

He made his way to the ground floor, went outside without bothering to put on shoes or a coat and ran into the snow. Yuuri followed, too worried to put on his own shoes and coat. The cold cut into him as soon as he was out the door, the wetness from the snow soaking into his socks. It was dark and quiet. He was suddenly much more thankful for the thick, itchy woolen sweaters Tanya had gifted them. He could barely make out Victor’s figure in the distance. As he got closer, he found Victor pacing back and forth in a spot by a lamppost. He was muttering a colorful combination of Russian curse words, some of which he recognized and others he didn't. 

Yuuri had never seen him like this before. His usually handsome face was flushed with a coarse red, perhaps from the cold or perhaps from his anger. Deep creases engraved themselves between his eyebrows and on his forehead as his mutters reached a fever pitch. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his arms, sometimes waving them to conduct his own cursing, at other times crossing them across his chest to keep himself warm. When he saw Yuuri approach him he was conscious enough to switch languages.

“That selfish bastard!” 

Yuuri grabbed one of Victor’s arms and started pulling him towards the house.

“Victor, it’s freezing. Let’s talk about this in-”

“He doesn’t get to play good father after he dies!” he screamed. “It’s not fucking fair!”

It was difficult to see in the dim lighting from the lampost, but tears streamed down his fiancé’s cheeks. He fell to his knees for the second time that day, burying his face in his hands and pulling Yuuri down with him. Another stream of Russian curses spouted out of his mouth, but the words soon became completely nonsensical. The broken sob that finally escaped from him tore Yuuri’s heart into pieces, making him forget the numbness in his fingers and toes.

“So, so stupid!” he got out between sobs. “I hate him, I hate him!” 

Yuuri pulled Victor's head out of his hands and towards Yuuri’s chest, doing his best to keep them both steady and warm. He rubbed one hand on Victor's back and used the other to hold his head tightly to his heart.

And then he waited. For a few moments, all he could hear was the wind and the hitches in Victor’s breath as he rolled through his crying fit. Yuuri wanted badly to do something, anything to stop the pain. Once again, he felt helpless. This wasn’t some frustration or anxiety they could skate away. This was cold, hard truth. Victor’s father was gone. And after years of hurt and miscommunication, they would never be able to fix things. Victor could only mourn.

Holding Victor tightly was the only thing he could think of to do. Was it really enough for Yuuri to just be by his side?

When Victor’s breathing evened out, Yuuri buried his own head into Victor’s hair.

“Vitya,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside and take a bath. Does that sound good?”

Victor nodded slowly, keeping his head tight to Yuuri’s chest and refusing to put even a few centimeters distance between them. They made their way back into the house, Yuuri keeping his arm wrapped as tightly as possible around Victor’s waist. He realized just how cold it had been as soon as they re-entered the house. The sudden warmth that flooded over him felt almost painful in contrast to his frozen hands and feet. 

Victor had sobered up from his tears already. A hint of crow’s feet crinkled around his reddened eyes, his skin raw from the cold. As Yuuri walked ahead towards the stairs, Victor followed closely behind him and draped his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders in a loose hug, both their bodies slowly warming up in spite of their wet clothes. Yuuri stopped moving ahead and paused just before reaching the stairs..

“The letters,” Victor said finally, his voice hoarse. “They were all about me.” 

Yuuri nodded. All he could do now was listen.

“It was...an account of my whole life. All addressed to my mother. It was like a record of all his regrets and fears...most of the time it seemed like he felt guilty. Guilty about me...guilty about my mother.”

“Why...about your mother?” Yuuri said quietly. 

As Victor told the story of how his parents met and the career his mother had given up to have him, they made their way upstairs and prepared a hot bath. Hearing it all made Yuuri’s heart ache. It ached for the mother he had never met, the father he had never understood, and of course, for the lover who bared it all before him.

They took off their clothes when the bath was almost full, Victor continuing the story in a low, calm tone, with Yuuri chiming in occasionally just to show he was listening. To reassure Victor that it mattered.

"You know,” Victor said, testing the water temperature with his hand. “For all my father's worries about holding back my mother, I think he was wrong. I know he was wrong."

"How do you mean?"

"From everything I've ever heard about her, from Tanya, her friends, her former students...all of them said she was joyful until the very end. Maybe I'm being selfish because I want to believe it, but I think she loved being his wife. I think she wanted to be my mother."

Yuuri remembered the smiles on Tanya’s face when she discussed Victor’s mother, as if just talking about her joy reminded her of her own joy. And if his mother was as free-spirited as they said, it did seem strange that she would choose a life as a wife and mother just because society deemed it right.

"I think she really chose us because she loved us,” Victor continued as he stepped into the bath. “I'm not saying she wasn't disappointed. It's hard to give up those kinds of dreams. But sometimes you find new dreams in places you don't expect and then you decide to build a new future." 

After Yuuri followed him into the bath and set himself down with his back to Victor, Victor leaned his head on Yuuri's. He sighed heavily as they waited for the water to fill the tub to the right level.

"He was so focused on my future and on the past...I just wanted him to be part of my present.” 

They both let the words hang around them and mingle with the steam that filled up the bathroom. Yuuri turned off the faucet when the water reached his chest. He leaned back into Victor and let Victor’s arms wrap around him.

“I'm sorry, darling,” Victor said, nuzzling his head into Yuuri’s further. “We'll be lucky if we don't get sick. Your useless coach strikes again.”

Yuuri almost wanted to laugh. After everything, that’s what his fiancé was worried about?

“It's fine,” he said, stretching his toes out and wiggling them around in the water. “I have a month until Four Continents, and you just announced your retirement. People will expect you to be in bad shape from now on anyway.”

“Hey!” Victor grabbed Yuuri’s shoulders and gave them a teasing squeeze. “I'll have you know that I plan on ending my career at the top of the podium!”

“Except you won't,” Yuuri smirked as he turned his head to look Victor in the eye. “Because I'll be at the top of the podium.”

Victor’s laugh rolled out of his chest and echoed throughout the bathroom. The sound of it filled Yuuri’s mind and heart. It had been so long since he had seen and heard Victor honestly smile and laugh. Experiencing both after such a long hiatus was a relief.

They continued relaxing in the tub, shifting every now and then since the tub wasn’t quite big enough for them to sit well. Yuuri started massaging Victor’s legs with his hands, finding the action meditative. He also didn’t mind hearing Victor’s rhythmic sighs as he worked his way up and down his thighs. 

“Yuuri,” Victor said in a half-sigh, half-whisper.

“Hm?”

“The kind of leukemia they said my dad had...the doctor said it might be hereditary.”

Yuuri tensed up, but continued massaging his thumbs into Victor’s thighs as he spoke, doing his best to comfort and reassure his fiancé. The water in the bath was starting to feel more lukewarm than hot, but the conversation kept them stuck in the tub.

“At first I was really scared, but now that I really think about it, I'm a little relieved.”

“Why?” Yuuri asked, attempting to turn around a bit so he could see Victor’s face. 

“I want to die first. Because I don't think I can live without you,” He wore a soft, almost abashed grin as he expressed his very serious wish. “Isn't that the most selfish thing you've ever heard?”

Yuuri stilled, his thumbs stopped in place.

“Yes,” he said deliberately. “You're the most selfish person I know.” 

He frowned and squeezed Victor’s thighs with a bit of extra force. It had been an emotional day already, and now Victor was running full speed ahead and thinking about who would die first. As much as Yuuri wanted to support Victor, he didn’t want to even entertain the notion of one of them dying. Not when they still had so much ahead of them.

“And you still love me anyway?”

Yuuri snorted and looked away from Victor again so he could sit comfortably.

“Baka. Of course I do.”

The question was incredibly stupid at this point, but Yuuri knew that no matter how many times Victor asked, his answer would always be the same. He’d probably call him an idiot for it every time.

“Yuuriii,” Victor said, doing that annoyingly cute thing where he stretched out his name into extra syllables. He closed his arms tighter around Yuuri’s as if he wanted to protect him from something. “Can you promise me something?”

“What?” He’d learned early never to promise Victor anything without knowing the details.

“Promise you won't die first.”

Yuuri turned and flicked some dripping water from his hands at Victor, a few drops hitting his eyes. “What kind of nonsense is that!?”

“Yuuriiii you have to promise!” Victor whined as he splashed Yuuri back.

“Nope,” he said, facing forward once more. “You have to beat me at Worlds first. Then we can talk about weird death promises that I have almost no control over.”

At that, Victor’s embrace tightened. Yuuri could practically feel the sulk. 

“Then I guess I’ll just have to win gold again,” Victor whispered into Yuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri sighed, part-amused, part-troubled. He didn’t know if he should be touched or annoyed by Victor’s ridiculous request. Oh well. Yet another thing they’d have to settle on the ice.

In any case, they’d have the rest of their lives to figure it out.

When they got out of the tub, Yuuri ensured Victor dried himself off properly, even making him wear pajamas to bed. They settled into bed together, Yuuri making a show of tucking Victor in tightly with the blankets. They cuddled close to each other. The warmth from the bath emanated from them both, making it feel like they were in their own cocoon. Yuuri had tucked himself tightly underneath Victor’s arm, his head resting on Victor’s chest. 

“I wish…” Victor said, breaking their comfortable silence.

Yuuri waited again, hoping that whatever it was, it was a wish he could fulfill.

“I wish...we could have had one good conversation,” he whispered, regretful, but not broken. “Just one.”

That was the one thing that pained Yuuri the most too. As it stood, it felt like there was no closure. Nikolay was simply gone. There was no recourse, no way for him to ever know that after all this time, Victor finally understood his father at least a little bit. If only Nikolay had taken the time to face Victor instead.

“Well,” Victor said, a little tentative. “Maybe we did have one.”

Yuuri raised his head from Victor’s chest, a bit surprised. “About what?”

Victor hummed, sounding hopeful. But instead of answering Yuuri’s question, he simply kissed his forehead and pushed his cheek against Yuuri’s hair.

“You’ll see,” he said, practically singing.

It was a complete turnaround from before. Whatever thought Victor had just had made him optimistic and excited. Yuuri could hear a hint of mischief in his fiancé’s voice, but decided to ignore it in favor of falling asleep. It sounded like something to be dealt with in the future. For now, he was happy to enjoy the warmth of Victor’s arms and dream about the future instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CATHARSIS FOR VITYA!
> 
> Maybe a little melodramatic, but it’s been a helluva year for him.
> 
> And for once, Victor is the one worrying about the future, while Yuuri is content to enjoy the present. Ah well - one of them will always have it covered.
> 
> I’m crying. I can’t believe I’m almost done with this fic and this last chapter is so short. I guess it’s really just a companion to the chapter before it anyway. The epilogue is all that’s left and I’m feeling oddly empty. Will post the epilogue tomorrow or the day after - no need to wait a whole week ;)
> 
> I’ve already started writing an AU in which Natasha never died and Kolya is still a quiet man, but it’s clear to Victor that he loves him (and some other stuff like Victor having a younger sister and being a composer/pianist instead of skating, but he meets Yuuri anyway and they fall in love etc.). If the drafts become serious, I’ll start posting. In the meantime, it’s just some wishful thinking. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, and criticism are always welcome :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on tumblr](http://sailormelanie.tumblr.com)


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri surprise everyone.

**_Colorado - March - A few days after the World Figure Skating Championships_ **

“I hate them so fucking much,” Yuri muttered. 

He sat next to Georgi and Mila on a pew close to the altar. The mid-sized church was plenty to contain the intimate group of friends and family who had somehow made it to the event, in spite of the short notice. The only “disturbing” factor was the small, but noticeable group of people armed with cameras and phones who were scattered throughout the church, despite only having spoken with both grooms for the first time that week.

“I think it's fun and spontaneous!” Mila said, her excitement spilling out as she fidgeted in her seat.

Yuri crossed his arms tightly, trying to steady his own anger. Even he had the sense not to draw too much attention at someone else’s wedding. “Who the fuck throws a last minute surprise wedding after a major competition and still expects everyone they know to come?!” 

“Lovers whose feelings are so overflowing,” Georgi waxed poetic, “The cup pours into-”

“SHITHEAD IDIOTS, THAT'S WHO!” his shout echoed in the hall above the rest of the chatter. Yakov and Lilia shot him admonishing looks from across the aisle, but he ignored them. “They're so fucking selfish! It pisses me off!”

“If you're so mad, then why did you change your flight to stay in the States?” Mila asked, knowing full well what the real reason was.

“B-because,” Yuri struggled for an answer, his eyes frantically darting back and forth as if in search of one. “Because if I didn't that old geezer would never let me hear the end if it!”

Mila giggled, patting Yuri on the shoulder. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” 

Yuri slouched further down in his seat like he wanted to die. His eyes wandered around the church, following the trail of flower arrangements lining the benches and the light coming in from the stained glass windows. “How the hell did they book such a fancy place with less than a week’s notice anyway?”

It had been both a stroke of genius and luck. Everyone wanted a piece of the culmination of love for last year’s most followed couple on social media. People had been manically piecing together theories of their love story ever since Yuuri announced his season’s theme the year Victor became his coach. That paired with the very public kiss during the last Grand Prix series, their matching rings, and their groundbreaking exhibition pair skate made them the internet’s favorite couple, regardless of whether or not people were skating fans.

So as soon as now-retired Living Legend Victor Nikiforov made the very public announcement at the post-Worlds press conference that they were extending their stay in Colorado for a surprise wedding and stated the fact that they would livestream it, their wedding suddenly became the pop-up event of the year. The fact that they couldn’t get legally married in either of their home countries fueled the social media frenzy and turned them into the poster children for love incarnate. It was outside of wedding season, so venues with open or cancelled appointments flocked to Victor’s DMs, email inbox and PR manager, eager for the publicity. Florists sent offers for quick-order arrangements advertising, “Love is love is love is love is love,” and a rising-star cellist who had gone semi-viral on YouTube for her performance of Stammi Vicino tweeted that she’d be in the area if the couple was interested in some music accompaniment. 

Luckily, Yuuri’s family and Minako were already there, his parents finally calling in all the favors they could muster to take care of the inn so they could see Yuuri at an international competition for the first time outside of Japan. Most of their skating friends were either already in Colorado for Worlds, or had no trouble flying in on a whim. Victor had even managed to get Tanya to fly out after much convincing that she would not get abducted from the plane. The only important people missing were Makkachin and the Nishigoris, the family having too much trouble with the logistics when they had to manage the triplets and their jobs as well. Yuuri and Victor promised a personalized reenactment for the girls the next time they visited Hasetsu.

And so, with a flurry of phone calls, texts, and emails over the course of three days, a tasteful, if somewhat informal wedding for the world’s favorite skating couple was planned in record speed. 

When it seemed a lull had fallen over the crowd, the opening notes of Stammi Vicino played by a lone cello echoed through the church, signalling that it was time to begin.

“Isn’t one of them supposed to stand out here already and wait for the other one or something?” Yuri muttered.

“Yuratchka,” Mila teased further. “I didn’t know you were such a wedding expert! Making your own plans already with Otabek?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

At that moment the doors behind them opened. Phichit walked backwards with phone in hand down the aisle, filming and livestreaming the stars of the event. Victor and Yuuri walked arm in arm together through the doors following after Phichit, both of their eyes fixed on each other. Once or twice, one could hear a hushed sob or an ‘aw’ over the sounds of the cello, but the two grooms took no notice, in spite of the fact that it was all for them. They were in a cozy bubble of their own love.

There had been no time for them to get the custom embroidered and tailored suits from Victor’s dream wedding plans, but Tanya had brought a light pink pocket square sewn with parts of Victor’s mother’s veil, a veil that had also belonged to his father’s mother. The square fit in well with the white, fitted suits they managed to get last-minute from a local store.     

Waiting for them at the altar was the officiant Leo de la Iglesia had recommended to them, a kind, older looking woman who was the reverend of an open-minded church and also happened to be a big ice skating fan. When the grooms reached the front, their arms dropped to their sides and they took each other by the hand instead, both of them still looking only at the other with faint blushes on their cheeks.

The reverend smiled warmly. When the last, singing note of the cello dissipated, she lifted up her arms towards the couple, finally calling their attention elsewhere.

“Marriage is a demonstration of more than just love,” she said, opening the ceremony. “It's a partnership. It's a promise to stand together in the face of whatever lies ahead. As many of us have learned in the past year, there are few who are more ready to fulfill that promise than the two who stand before us today…” 

**Colorado - March - Later in the Evening**

The day had been like a dream.

Victor felt like he was floating, the high from the sex making his thoughts swirl around in his mind like vapor. He thought about the wedding, their friends, his father, his retirement, his coaching, his happiness, his regrets, his Yuuri, his family, his Yuuri…

“Yuuri…” he said dreamily, almost inadvertently. 

Yuuri hummed in response, apparently on the edge of sleep.

“You know when I invited Katya over for tea? Last year?”

There was a beat, as if the man was reluctant to use words. “What about it?”

“I think I may have had ulterior motives...”

Yuuri sighed and extracted himself from Victor’s arm so he could prop his head up with his hand and take in anything Victor had to say in case it was serious. He raised a tired, but attentive eyebrow.

“I think I wanted proof of something...proof that there’s a whole life after...well...competing. I think what Katya did was extreme. I’d never want to leave skating completely. But she has her reasons. Her family is a little messed up too. Her mother was the opposite of my father. She was always there pushing Katya’s career, dictating her clothes, her hair, her coach, everything. I wanted to see if it was really possible for people like us to have a family...and really be happy.”

It came out in an odd ramble, directionless and pondering. He felt high. Maybe there was something in the cake. They were in Colorado, after all. Or was it because of the surrealness of his retirement and the whole trip culminating in his marrying Yuuri in front of their friends and family an ocean and a continent away from their actual home?

Yuuri hadn't said anything, maybe too confused or too exhausted to make sense of whatever Victor was trying to say. Victor pressed on.

“You know what my favorite future dream is?”

“What?” he asked, his voice soft and patient.

“Ok. So we have a beautiful beachfront house. But we’re wearing matching turtleneck sweaters like we’re in a Nancy Meyers movie, and we’re walking along the waterfront following-”

“Some really adorable-looking kids playing with Makkachin who will magically live forever?”

Victor’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, Yuuri! How did you know?!”

Yuuri giggled and collapsed flat on the bed again, his hands rubbing his eyes. “Let's call it an educated guess.”

“Do you also… have that dream?” Maybe this should have been dangerous territory, but after everything they'd been through and talked about lately, nothing seemed too silly or serious anymore.

Yuuri's hands came down from his face so he could eye Victor properly. A tentative smile formed.

“Moreso lately.”

Victor felt like his heart would burst. He took Yuuri into his arms for a tight hug so Yuuri could feel what he was feeling.

“The future seems bright, doesn't it?”

Yuuri buried his head in Victor’s chest, allowing himself to be crushed.

“With you it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are appreciated!
> 
> It’s their first night as a married couple - I decided to give them a little bit of privacy ;)
> 
> This isn’t super substantive, but just a sweet little fluffy thing to wrap it all up and put a thematic bow on things.
> 
> To this work’s very small but very dedicated readerbase, thank you so much for the love and support. This fic came out at an unusually fast pace from my brain, much like how this anime has invaded my heart with an unusually large amount of force. 
> 
> Next up is either another post-canon fic (dealing with foster care and adoption), an AU in which Victor’s mother never died, an AU in which they legitimately hate each other at first but then...don’t. Or...something else entirely (sci-fi AU that’s already been outlined with short drafts). Still deciding. Interested in finding out? I’ll post some of my fic ideas on [tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/) and see where the ideas roll.
> 
> For now, you can check out my other YOI-related writing shorts I have on [tumblr](https://sailormelanie.tumblr.com/), or user subscribe and wait for an update here.
> 
> See you next level!


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